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ROdER    POCOCK 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


( 


A  MAN  IN  THE  OPEN 


^ 


!"' 


V 


Kate 


A  MAN 
IN  THE  OPEN 


By 
ROGER  POCOCK 


Illustrated  by 
M. LEONE  BRACKER 


SYNDICATE    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

NEW    YORK  LONDON 


Copyright  191 2 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


CONTENTS         ^*«  / 

PART  I  „,^„ 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  On  the  Labrador 1 

II  The  Happy  Ship 18 

III  Youth 36 

IV  The  Ordeal  by  Torture 47 

V  The  Burning  Bush 67 


PART  II 

I 

Two  Ships  at  Anchor 75 

II 

The  Trevor  Accident  . 

90 

III 

Love 

.     107 

IV 

The  Landlord 

118 

V 

The  Illustrious  Salvator  . 

130 

VI 

Robbery-Under-Arms    . 

.     144 

VII 

The;  Round-Up     . 

155 

VIII 

The  Stampede 

.     165 

IX 

The  Untruthful  Prisoner 

178 

X 

Breaking  the  Statutes 

190 

XI 

Billy  O'Flynn     . 

203 

XII 

Expounding  the  Scriptures 

210 

XIII 

Nativity        .... 

225 

XIV 

The  Locked  House 

1                < 

236 

PART  III 

I     Spite  House 253 

II    The  Impatient  Chapter 277 

III  Rescue 290 

IV  At  Hundred  Mile  House 298 

V    The  Cargador 316 

VI    The  Black  Night 334 

Epilogue 349 


93S745 


TO  PERSONS  WHO  HAVE  NAMESAKES  IN 

THIS  BOOK 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 

Except  the  Bear,  who  is  no  more,  the  characters  ap- 
pearing in  this  volume  wish  me  to  say  that  their 
breaches  of  etiquette,  homicides,  etc.,  are  all  original 
sins.  Their  infirmities  of  body,  soul,  and  spirit  are  their 
own,  not  mimicry  of  yours,  not  a  caricature  of  your 
friend,  your  acquaintance,  of  your  second-hand  ac- 
quaintance, or  anybody  you  have  heard  about,  or  even 
of  some  mere  celebrity.  If  we  hold  up  a  mirror,  it  is 
to  human  nature,  not  to  you. 

The  characters  wish  me  to  tell  you  that  they  are 
all  Imaginary  Persons,  and  therefore  very  sensitive. 
The  persons  of  a  drama  are  protected  by  footlights,  by 
the  stage  doorkeeper,  not  to  mention  grease  paint  and 
scalps  by  an  eminent  artiste ;  but  the  characters  in  a 
novel  are  thrust  defenseless  into  a  rude  world,  with 
many  reporters  about.  In  a  page  fright,  worse  even 
than  stage  fright,  their  only  comfort  is  that  absence  of 
body  which  is  their  alternative  to  your  great  gift, — 
presence  of  mind. 

So  they  make  their  bow  under  assumed  names. 
There  we  come  to  the  point.  The  proper  names  were 
all  dealt  out  to  worldly  grasping  persons,  and  not  one 
was  left  unclaimed.  The  name  department  is  like  a 
cloak-room  when  the  guests  have  departed,  a  train  from 
which  all  passengers  have  alighted,  an  office  on  Christ- 
mas day.  Can  you  blame  the  characters  in  fiction  who 
come  after  you,  if  they  assume  the  noblest  names,  such 
as   Smith,   and   try   to   be   worthy   of  their  borrowed 


plumes?  Surely  you  would  not  have  them  wear  a 
numeral  such  as  the  number  of  your  house,  or  tele- 
phone. 

The  chances  are  that  they  give  you  no  offense.  Sup- 
pose that  gentlemen  named  Jesse  Smith  number  one 
in  each  million  of  English-speaking  people,  there 
would  be  one  hundred  in  North  America,  half  of  them 
adults,  with  a  moiety  in  wedlock,  and,  of  these  twenty- 
five,  a  hundredth  part  m.ay  be  stockmen,  of  whom  say 
one  per  cent,  have  a  flaw  in  their  claim  to  wedlock. 
To  this  residuum,  the  .0025  part  of  a  perfect  gentle- 
man, whom  he  has  not  the  honor  to  know  personally, 
our  Mr.  Smith  tenders  profound  apologies. 

But  the  Persons  of  the  book,  dear  friends,  who  have 
filled  two  years  of  my  life  with  happiness,  are  not  only 
Imaginary  People  with  assumed  names,  but  they  in- 
habit a  district  at  variance  with  the  maps,  at  a  period 
not  shown  in  earthly  calendars.  So  far  aloof  from  the 
world  where  they  might  give  offense  to  earthly  read- 
ers, they  are  outside  the  bounds  of  space  and  time,  and 
belong  to  that  realm  of  Art  where  there  is  but  one  law, 
whereby  they  stand  or  fall,  must  live  or  die — fidelity  to 
Life. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


A  MAN  IN  THE  OPEN 


PART  I 


A  MAN  IN  THE  OPEN 

CHAPTER  I 

ON    THE    LABRADOR 

Dictated  by  Mr.  Jesse  Smith 

DON'T  you  write  anything  down  yet,  'cause  I 
ain't  ready. 

If  I  wrote  this  yarn  myself,  I'd  make  it  good  and 
red  from  tip  to  tip,  claws  out,  teeth  bare,  :fur  crawl- 
ing with  emotions.  It  wouldn't  be  dull,  no,  or  evi- 
dence. 

But  then  it's  to  please  you,  and  that's  what  I'm  for. 

So  I  proceeds  to  stroke  the  fur  smooth,  lay  the 
paws  down  soft,  fold  up  the  smile,  and  purr.  A  sort 
of  truthfulness  steals  over  me.    Coin'  to  be  dull,  too. 

No,  I  dunno  how  to  begin.  If  this  yarn  was  a 
rope,  I'd  coil  it  down  before  I  begun  to  pay  out. 
You  lays  the  end,  so,  and  flemish  down,  ring  by  ring 
until  the  bight's  coiled,  smooth,  ready  to  flake  off"  as 
it  runs.     I  delayed  a  lynching  once  to  do  just  that, 

I 


2  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

and  relieve  the  patient's  mind.     It  all  went  off  so 
well! 


When  we  kids  were  good,  mother  she  used  to  own 
we  came  of  pedigree  stock;  but  when  we're  bad, 
seems  we  took  after  father.  You  see  mother's  folk 
was  the  elect,  sort  of  born  saved.  They  allowed 
there'd  be  room  in  Heaven  for  one  hundred  and 
forty-four  thousand  just  persons,  mostly  from  Nova 
Scotia,  but  when  they  took  to  sorting  the  neighbors, 
they'd  get  exclusive.  The  McGees  were  all  right 
until  Aunt  Jane  McGee  up  and  married  a  venerable 
archdeacon,  due  to  burn  sure  as  a  bishop.  The 
Todds  were  through  to  glory,  with  doubts  on  Uncle 
Simon,  who'd  been  a  whaler  captain  until  he  found 
grace  and  opened  a  dry-goods  store.  Seeing  he  died 
in  grace,  worth  all  of  ten  thousand  dollars,  the  heirs 
concluded  the  Lord  should  act  reasonable,  until  they 
found  uncle  had  left  his  wealth  to  charities.  Then 
they  put  a  text  on  his  tomb — "For  he  had  great  pos- 


sessions." 


The  McAndrewses  has  corner  lots  in  the  New 
Jerusalem,  and  is  surely  the  standard  of  morals  until 
Cousin  Abner  went  shiftless  and  wrote  poems. 
They'd  alius  been  so  durned  respectable,  too. 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  3 

Anyway,  mother's  folk  as  a  tribe,  is  millionaires 
in  grace  and  pretty  well  fixed  in  Nova  Scotia.  She'd 
talk  like  a  book,  too.  You'd  never  suspect  mother, 
playing  the  harmonium  in  church,  with  a  tuning- 
fork  to  sharpen  the  preacher's  voice,  black  boots, 
white  socks,  box-plaited  crinoline,  touch-me-not 
frills,  poke  bonnet,  served  all  round  with  scratch- 
the-kisser  roses.  Yes,  I  seen  the  daguerreotype,  work 
of  a  converted  photographer — nothing  to  pay. 
Thar's  mother — full  suit  of  sail,  rated  a  hundred 
A-one  at  Lloyd's,  the  most  important  sheep  in  the 
Lord's  flock.  Then  she's  found  out,  secretly  married 
among  the  goats.  Her  name's  scratched  out  of  the 
family  Bible,  with  a  strong  hint  to  the  Lord  to 
scratch  her  entry  from  the  Book  of  Life.  She's  mar- 
ried a  sailorman  before  the  mast,  a  Liveyere  from 
the  Labrador,  a  man  without  a  dollar,  suspected  of 
being  Episcopalian.  Why,  she'd  been  engaged  to  the 
leading  grocery  in  Pugwash.  Oh,  great  is  the  fall 
thereof,  and  her  name  ain't  alluded  to  no  more. 
"The  ways  of  the  Lord,"  says  she,  "is  surely  won- 
derful." 

In  them  days  the  Labrador  ain't  laid  out  exactly 
to  suit  mother.  She's  used  to  luxury — coal  in  the 
lean-to,  taties  in  the  cellar,  cows  in  the  barn,  barter 


4  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

store  round  the  corner,  mails,  church,  school,  and  a 
jail  right  handy,  so  she  can  enjoy  the  ungodly  get- 
ting their  just  deserts.  But  in  our  time  the  Labrador 
was  just  God's  country,  all  rocks,  ice,  and  sea,  to  put 
the  fear  into  i:)roud  hearts — no  need  of  teachers.  It 
kills  off  the  weaklings — no  need  of  doctors.  A 
school  to  raise  men — no  need  of  preachers.  The  law 
was  "work  or  starve" — no  place  for  lawyers.  It's 
police,  iind  court,  and  hangman  all  complete,  fire 
and  hail,  snow  and  vapors,  wind  and  storm  fulfill- 
ing His  word.  Nowadays  I  reckon  there'd  be  a  cin- 
ematograph theater  down  street  to  distract  your  at- 
tention from  facts,  and  you'd  order  molasses  by  wire- 
less, invoiced  C.  O.  D.  to  Torngak,  Lab.  Can't  I 
hear  mother's  voice  acrost  the  years,  and  the  conti- 
nents, as  she  reads  the  lesson  :  "  'He  casteth  forth  His 
ice  like  morsels  :  who  can  stand  before  His  cold?'  " 

Father's  home  was  an  overturned  schooner,  turfed 
in,  and  he  was  surely  proud  of  having  a  bigger  place 
than  any  other  Liveyere  on  the  coast.  There  was  the 
hold  overhead  for  stowing  winter  fish,  and  room 
down-stairs  for  the  family,  the  team  of  seven  husky 
dogs,  and  even  a  cord  or  two  of  fire-wood.  We  kids 
used  to  play  at  Newf'nlanders  up  in  the  hold,  when 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  5 

the  winter  storms  were  tearing  the  tops  off  the  hills, 
and  the  Eskimo  devil  howled  blue  shrieks  outside. 
The  huskies  makes  wolf  songs  all  about  the  fewness 
of  fish,  and  we'd  hear  mother  give  father  a  piece  of 
her  mind.  That's  about  the  first  I  remember,  but  all 
what  mother  thought  about  poor  father  took  years 
and  years  to  say. 

I  used  to  be  kind  of  sorry  for  father.  You  see  he 
worked  the  bones  through  his  hide,  furring  all  win- 
ter and  fishing  summers,  and  what  he  earned  he'd 
get  in  truck  from  the  company.  All  us  Liveyeres 
owed  to  the  Hudson  Bay,  but  father  worked  hardest, 
and  he  owed  most,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  skins. 
The  company  trusted  him.  There  wasn't  a  man  on 
the  coast  more  trusted  than  he  was,  with  mother  to 
feed,  and  six  kids,  besides  seven  huskies,  and  father's 
aunt,  Thessalonika,  a  widow  with  four  children  and 
a  tumor,  living  down  to  Last  Hope  beyond  the 
Rocks.  Father's  always  in  the  wrong,  and  chews 
black  plug  baccy  to  keep  his  mouth  from  defending 
his  errors.  "B'y,"  he  said  once,  when  mother  went 
out  to  say  a  few  words  to  the  huskies;  "I'd  a  kettle 
once  as  couldn't  let  out  steam — went  off  and  broke 
my  arm.  If  yore  mother  ever  gets  silent,  run,  b'y> 
run!" 


6  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

I  whispered  to  him,  "Vou  don't  mind?" 

He  grinned.  "It's  sort  of  comforting  outside.  We 
don't  know  what  the  winds  and  the  waves  is  saying. 
If  they  talked  English,  I'd — I'd  turn  pitman  and 
hew  coal,  b'y,  as  they  does  down  Nova  Scotia  way — 
where  yore  mother  come  from." 

There  was  secrets  about  father,  and  if  she  ever 
found  out!  You  see,  he  looked  like  a  white  man, 
curly  yaller  hair  same  as  me,  and  he  was  fearful 
strong.  But  in  his  inside — don't  ever  tell ! — he  was 
partly  small  boy  same's  me,  and  the  other  half  of 
him — don't  ever  let  on  ! — was  mountaineer  injun.  I 
seen  his  three  brothers,  the  finest  fellers  you  ever — 
yes,  Scotch  half-breeds — and  mother  never  knew. 
"Jesse,"  he'd  whisper,  "swear  you'll  never  tell?" 

"S'elp  me  Bob." 

"It  would  be  hell,  b'y." 

"What's  hell  like?" 

"Prayers  and  bein'  scrubbed,  forever  an'  ever." 

"But  mother  won't  be  there?" 

"Why,  no.  It  hain't  so  bad  as  all  that.  She'll  be 
in  Heaven,  making  them  angels  respectable,  and 
cleaning  apostles.  They  was  fishermen,  too.  They'll 
catch  it!" 

Thar's  me  on  father's  knee,  with  my  nose  in  his 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  7 

buckskin  shirt,  and  even  to  this  day  the  wood  smoke 
in  camp  brings  back  that  wuff,  whereas  summers  his 
boots  smelt  fishy.  What  happened  first  or  after- 
wards is  all  mixed  up,  but  there's  the  smoke  smell 
and  sister  Maggie  lying  in  the  bunk,  all  white  and 
froze. 

There's  fish  smell,  and  Polly  who  used  to  wallop 
me  with  a  slipper,  lying  white  and  froze.  And  yet 
I  knew  she  couldn't  get  froze  in  summer. 

Then  there's  smoke  smell,  and  big  Tommy,  bigger 
nor  father,  throwing  up  blood.  I  said  he'd  catch  it 
from  mother  for  messing  the  floor,  but  father  just 
hugged  me,  telling  me  to  shut  up.  I  axed  him  if 
Tommy  was  going  to  get  froze,  too.  Then  father 
told  me  that  Tommy  was  going  away  to  where 
the  milk  came  out  of  a  cow.  You  just  shove 
the  can  opener  into  the  cow  so — and  the  milk 
pours  out,  whole  candy  pails  of  milk.  Then 
there's  great  big  bird  rocks  where  the  hens 
come  to  breed,  and  they  lays  fresh  eggs,  real 
fresh  hen's  eggs — rocks  all  white  with  eggs.  And 
there's  vegi  tables,  which  is  green  things  to  eat. 
First  time  you  swell  up  and  pretty  nigh  bust,  but  you 
soon  get  used  to  greens.  Tommy  is  going  to  Civili 
Zation.     It's  months  and  months  off,  and  when  you 


8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

get  there,  the  people  is  so  awful  mean  they'd  let  a 
stranger  starve  to  death  without  so  much  as  "Come 
in."  The  men  wear  pants  right  down  to  their  heels, 
and  as  to  the  women — 

Mother  comes  in  and  looks  at  father,  so  he  forgets 
to  say  about  the  women  at  Civili  Zation,  but  other 
times  he'd  tell,  oh,  lots  of  stories.  He  said  it  was 
worse  for  the  likes  of  us  than  New  Jerusalem. 

I  reckon  Tommy  died,  and  Joan,  too,  and  mother 
would  get  gaunt  and  dry,  rocking  herself.  "  'The 
Lord  gave,'  "  she'd  say,  "  'and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.'  " 

There  was  only  Pete  and  me  left,  and  father  wag- 
ging his  pipe  acrost  the  stove  at  mother.  "They'll 
die,  ma'am,"  I  heard  him  say,  and  she  just  sniffed. 
"If  I  hadn't  taken  'em  out  doors  they'd  be  dead 
now,  ma'am." 

She  called  him  an  injun.  She  called  him — I  dun- 
no  what  she  didn't  call  him.  I'd  been  asleep,  and 
when  I  woke  up  she  was  cooking  breakfast  while  she 
called  him  a  lot  more  things  she  must  have  forgot  to 
say.  But  he  carried  me  in  his  arms  out  through  the 
little  low  door,  and  it  was  stabbing  cold  with  a  blaze 
of  northern  lights. 

He  tucked  me  up  warm  on  the  komatik,  he  hitched 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  9 

up  the  huskies,  and  mushed,  way  up  the  tickle,  and 
through  the  soft  bush  snow,  and  at  sunup  we  made 
his  winter  tilt  on  Torngak  Creek.  We  put  in  the  win- 
ter there,  furring,  and  every  time  he  came  home  from 
the  round  of  traps,  he'd  sell  me  all  the  pelts.  I  was 
the  company,  so  he  ran  up  a  heap  of  debt.  Then  he 
made  me  little  small  snow-shoes  and  skin  clothes  like 
his,  and  a  real  beaver  cap  with  a  tail.  I  was  surely 
proud  when  he  took  me  hunting  fur  and  partridges. 
I  was  with  him  to  the  fishing,  in  the  fall  we'd  hunt, 
all  winter  we'd  trap  till  it  was  time  for  the  sealing, 
and  only  two  or  three  times  in  a  year  we'd  be  back  to 
mother.  We'd  build  her  a  stand-up  wigwam  of  fire- 
wood, so  it  wouldn't  be  lost  in  the  snow,  we'd  tote 
her  grub  from  the  fort,  the  loads  of  fish,  and  the  fall 
salmon. 

Then  I'd  see  Pete,  too,  who'd  got  pink,  with  a 
spitting  cough.  He  wanted  to  play  with  me,  but  I 
wouldn't.  I  just  couldn't.  I  hated  to  be  anywheres 
near  him. 

"Didn't  I  tell  yez?"  father  would  point  at  Pete 
coughing.    "Didn't  I  warn  yez  ?" 

But  mother  set  her  mouth  in  a  thin  line. 

"Pete,"  said  she,  "is  saved." 

Next  time  we  come  mother  was  all  alone. 


10  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"  The  Lord  gave,'  "  she  says,  "  'and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,' 
but  it's  getting  kind  of  monotonous." 

She  hadn't  much  to  say  then,  she  didn't  seem  to 
care,  but  was  just  numb.  He  wrapped  her  up  warm 
on  the  komatik,  with  just  a  sack  of  clothes,  her  Bible, 
and  the  album  of  photos  from  Nova  Scotia,  yes,  and 
the  china  dogs  she  carried  in  her  arms.  Father  broke 
the  trail  ahead,  I  took  the  gee  pole,  and  when  day 
came,  we  made  the  winter  tilt.  There  mother  kep' 
house  just  as  she  would  at  home,  so  clean  we  was  al- 
most scared  to  step  indoors.  We  never  had  such 
grub,  but  she  wouldn't  put  us  in  the  wrong  or  set  up 
nights  confessing  father's  sins.  She  didn't  care  any 
more. 

It  was  along  in  March  or  maybe  April  that  father 
was  away  in  coarse  weather,  making  the  round  of 
his  traps.  He  didn't  come  back.  There'd  been  a  bliz- 
zard, a  wolf-howling  hurricane,  blowing  out  a  lane 
of  bare  ground  round  the  back  of  the  cabin,  while 
the  big  drift  piled  higher  and  packed  harder,  until 
the  comb  of  it  grew  out  above  our  roof  like  a  sea 
breaker,  froze  so  you  could  walk  on  the  overhang. 
And  just  between  dark  and  duckish  father's  husky 
team  came  back  without  him. 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  ii 

I  don't  reckon  I  was  more'n  ten  or  eleven  years 
old,  but  you  see,  this  Labrador  is  kind  of  serious 
with  us,  and  makes  even  kids  act  responsible.  Go 
easy,  and  there's  famine,  freezing,  blackleg,  all  sorts 
of  reasons  against  laziness.    It  sort  of  educates. 

Mother  was  worse  than  silent  There  was  some- 
thing about  her  that  scared  me  more  than  anything 
outdoors.  In  the  morning  her  eye  kep'  following 
me  as  if  to  say,  "Go  find  your  father."  Surely  it  was 
up  to  me,  and  if  I  wasn't  big  enough  to  drive  the 
huskies  or  pack  father's  gun,  I  thought  I  could  man- 
age afoot  to  tote  his  four-pound  ax.  She  beckoned 
me  to  her  and  kissed  me — just  that  once  In  ten  years, 
and  I  was  quick  through  the  door,  out  of  reach,  lest 
she  should  see  me  mighty  near  to  cryin'. 

It  was  all  very  well  showing  ofif  brave  before 
mother,  but  when  I  got  outside,  any  excuse  would 
have  been  enough  for  going  back.  I  wished  I'd  left 
the  matches  behind,  but  I  hadn't.  I  wished  the  snow 
would  be  too  soft,  but  it  was  hard  as  sand.  I  wished 
I  wasn't  a  coward,  and  the  bush  didn't  look  so  wolfy, 
and  what  if  I  met  up  with  the  Eskimo  devil!  Oh,  I 
was  surely  the  scaredest  HI'  boy,  and  dead  certain 
I'd  get  lost.  There  was  nobody  to  see  if  I  sat  down 
and  cried  under  father's  lob-stick,  but   I   was  too 


12  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

durned  frightened,  because  the  upper  branches 
looked  like  arms  with  claws.  Then  I  went  on  because 
I  was  going,  and  there  was  father's  trail  blazed  on 
past  Bake-apple  Marsh.  The  little  trees,  a  cut  here, 
a  slash  there,  the  top  of  a  tree  lopped  and  hanging, 
then  Big  Boulder,  Johnny  Boulder,  Small  Boulder, 
cross  the  crick,  first  deadfall,  more  lops,  a  number- 
one  trap  empty — how  well  I  remember  even  now. 
The  way  was  as  plain  as  streets,  and  the  sun  shin- 
ing warm  as  he  looked  over  into  the  valley. 

Then  I  saw  a  man's  mitt,  an  old  buckskin  mitt 
sticking  up  out  of  the  snow.  Father  had  dropped 
his  mitt,  and  without  that  his  hand  would  be  froze. 
When  I  found  him,  how  glad  he'd  be  to  get  it! 

But  when  I  tried  to  pick  it  up,  it  was  heavy.  Then 
it  came  away,  and  there  was  father's  hand  sticking 
up.     It  was  dead. 

Of  course  I  know  I'd  ought  to  have  dug  down 
through  the  snow,  but  I  didn't.  I  ran  for  all  I  was 
worth.  Then  I  got  out  of  breath  and  come  back 
shamed. 

It  wasn't  for  love  of  father.  No.  I  hated  to  touch 
that  hand,  and  when  I  did  I  was  sick.  Still  that  was 
better  than  being  scared  to  touch.  It's  not  so  bad 
when  you  dare. 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  13 

I  dug,  with  a  snow-shoe  for  a  shovel.  There  was 
the  buckskin  shirt  smelling  good,  and  the  long 
fringes  I'd  used  to  tickle  his  nose  with — then  I  found 
his  face,  I  just  couldn't  bear  that,  but  turned  my 
back  and  dug  until  I  came  to  the  great,  big,  number- 
four  trap  he  used  for  wolf  and  beaver.  He  must 
have  stepped  without  seeing  it  under  the  snow,  and 
it  broke  his  leg.  Then  he'd  tried  to  drag  himself 
back  home. 

It  was  when  I  stood  up  to  get  breath  and  cool  off 
that  I  first  seen  the  wolf,  setting  peaceful,  waggin' 
his  tail.  First  I  thought  he  was  one  of  our  own  hus- 
kies, but  when  he  didn't  know  his  name  I  saw  for 
sure  he  must  be  the  wolf  who  lived  up  Two  Mile 
Crick.  Wolves  know  they're  scarce,  with  expensive 
pelts,  so  neither  father  nor  me  had  seen  more'n  this 
person's  tracks.  He'd  got  poor  inspecting  father's 
business  instead  of  minding  his  own.  That's  why  he 
was  called  the  Inspector.  It  was  March,  too,  the 
moon  of  famine.  Of  course  I  threw  my  ax  and 
missed.  His  hungry  smile's  still  thar  behind  a  bush, 
and  me  wondering  whether  his  business  is  with  me 
or  father.  That's  why  I  stepped  on  the  snow-shoes, 
and  went  right  past  where  he  was,  not  daring  to  get 
my  ax.   Yes,  it  was  me  he  wanted  to  see — first,  but  of 


14  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

course  I  wasn't  going  to  encourage  any  animal  into 
thinking  he'd  scared  a  man.  Why,  he'd  scarce  have 
let  father  even  see  his  tracks  for  fear  they'd  be 
trapped  or  shot.  So  I  walked  slow  and  proud,  lead- 
in'  him  off  from  father — at  least  I  played  that,  wish- 
ing all  the  time  that  mother's  HI'  boy  was  to  home. 
After  a  while  I  grabbed  down  a  lopped  stick  where 
father'd  blazed,  not  as  fierce  as  an  ax,  but  enough  to 
make  me  more  or  less  respected. 

Sometimes  the  Inspector  was  down  wind  'specting 
my  smell,  times  he  was  up  wind  for  a  bird's-eye 
view,  or  again  on  my  tracks  to  see  how  small  they 
looked — and  oh,  they  did  feel  small ! 

From  what  I've  learned  among  these  people, 
wolves  is  kind  to  man  cubs,  gentle  and  friendly  even 
when  pinched  with  hunger,  just  loving  to  watch  a 
child  and  its  queer  ways.  They're  shy  of  man  be- 
cause his  will  is  strong  compelling  them,  and  his 
weapons  magic.  So  they  respects  his  traps,  his  kids, 
an'  all  belonging  to  him.  Only  dying  of  hunger, 
they'll  snatch  his  dogs  and  cats,  and  little  pigs,  but 
they  ain't  known  to  hurt  man  or  his  young. 

The  Inspector  was  bigger  than  me,  stronger  'n  any 
man,  swifter  'n  any  horse.     I  tell  yer  the  maned 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  15 

white  wolf  is  wiser'n  most  people,  and  but  for  eating 
his  cubs,  he's  nature's  gentleman. 

The  trouble  was  not  him  hunting,  but  me  scared. 
Why,  if  he'd  wanted  me,  one  flash,  one  bite,  and  I'm 
breakfast.  It  was  just  curiosity  made  him  so  close 
behind  like  a  stealthy  ghost.  When  I'd  turn  to  show 
fight,  he'd  seem  to  apologize,  and  then  I'd  go  on 
whistling  a  hymn. 

Thar  he  was  cached  right  ahead  in  the  deadfall, 
for  a  front  view,  if  I'd  known.  But  I  thrashed  with 
my  stick  in  a  panic,  hitting  his  snout,  so  he  yelped. 
Then  he  lost  his  temper.  He'd  a  "sorry,  but-busi- 
ness-is-business"  expression  on  him.  I  ran  at  him, 
tripped  on  a  stump,  let  out  a  yell,  and  he  lep'  straight 
at  my  throat. 

And  in  the  middle  of  that  came  a  gunshot,  a  bullet 
grazed  my  arm,  and  went  on  whining.  Another 
shot,  and  the  Inspector  ran.  Then  I  was  rubbing 
whar  the  bullet  hurt,  sort  of  sulky,  too,  with  a  griev- 
ance, when  I  was  suddenly  grabbed  and  nigh  smoth- 
ered in  mother's  arms.  She'd  come  with  the  team  of 
huskies  followin'  me;  she'd  been  gunning,  too,  and  I 
sure  had  a  mighty  close  call. 

She'd  no  tears  left  for  father,  so  when  I  got 
through  sobbin'  we  went  to  the  body,  and  loaded  it 


1 6  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

in  the  komatik  for  home.  Thar's  things  I  don't  like 
to  tell  you. 

It  wasn't  a  nice  trip  exactly,  with  the  Inspector 
superintending  around.  When  we  got  back  to  the 
tilt,  we  daresn't  take  out  the  huskies,  or  unload,  or 
even  stop  for  grub.  We  had  to  drive  straight  on, 
mother  and  me,  down  the  tickle,  past  our  old  empty 
home,  then  up  the  Baccalieu  all  night. 

The  sun  was  just  clear  of  the  ice  when  we  made 
the  Post,  and  we  saw  a  little  ball  jerk  up  the  flag 
halyards,  then  break  to  a  great  red  flag  with  the  let- 
ters H.  B.  C.     It  means  Here  Before  Christ. 

The  air  was  full  of  a  big  noise,  like  the  skirl  of 
sea-gulls  screaming  in  a  gale,  and  there  was  Mr.  Mc- 
Tavish  on  the  sidewalk,  marching  with  his  bagpipes 
to  wake  the  folk  out  of  their  Sunday  beds.  He'd 
pants  down  to  his  heels,  just  as  father  said,  and  fat 
bacon  to  eat  every  day  of  his  life.  He  was  strong  as 
a  team  of  bullocks,  a  big,  bonny,  red  man,  with 
white  teeth  when  he  turned,  smiling,  in  a  sudden 
silence  of  the  pipes.  Then  he  saw  father's  body,  with 
legs  and  arms  stiff"ened  all  ways,  and  the  number- 
four  trap  still  gripped  on  broken  bones.  Off  came 
his  fur  cap. 

Mother  stood,  iron-hard,  beside  the  komatik. 


ON    THE    LABRADOR  17 

"Factor,"  says  she,  "I've  come  to  pay  his  debt." 

"Nay,  it's  the  Sabbath,  ma'am.  Ye'll  pay  no  debts 
till  Monday.  Come  in  and  have  some  tea — ye  puir 
thing." 

"You  starved  his  soul  to  death,  and  now  I've 
brought  his  body  to  square  his  debts.  Will  you  leave 
that  here  till  Monday  ?" 

Mr.  IMcTavish  looked  at  her,  then  whispered  to 
me.  "B'y,"  said  he,  "we  must  make  her  cry  or  she'll 
be  raving  mad.  Greet,  woman,  greet.  By  God,  I'll 
make  ye  greet!" 

He  marched  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  and 
through  the  skirl  of  gulls  in  a  storm,  swept  a  tune 
that  made  the  meat  shake  on  my  bones. 

Once  mother  shrieked  out,  trying  to  make  him 
stop,  but  he  went  on  pacing  in  front  of  her,  to  and 
fro,  with  his  eyes  on  her  all  the  time,  peering  straight 
through  her,  and  all  the  grief  of  all  the  world  in  the 
skirl  and  the  wail,  and  that  hopeless  awful  tune.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  trying  to  hold  while 
the  great  sobs  shook  her,  and  she  reeled  like  a  tree 
in  a  gale,  until  she  fell  on  her  knees,  until  she  threw 
herself  on  the  corpse,  and  cried,  and  cried. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    HAPPY   SHIP 

CAP'N  MOSE  of  the  Zcdckiah  IV.  Baggs  'e  was 
a  Sunday  Christian.  All  up  along  'e'd  wear  a 
silk  hat,  the  only  one  on  the  Labrador.  Yes,  Sun- 
days 'e'd  be  ashore  talkin'  predestination  an'  grace 
out  of  a  book  'e  kep'  in  'is  berth,  but  never  a  word 
about  fish  or  the  state  of  the  ice.  Mother'd  been 
raised  to  a  belief  in  Christians,  so  when  Mose 
dropped  in  at  her  shack,  admirin'  how  she  cooked, 
she'd  be  pleased  all  up  the  back,  and  have  him  right 
in  to  dinner.  He'd  kiss  me,  talkin'  soft  about  little 
children.  Yes.  That's  how  'e  got  me  away  to  sea  as 
boy  on  a  sealin'  voyage,  without  paying  me  any 
wages. 

Mother  never  knew  what  Cap'n  Mose  was  like  on 
week-days,  and  Sunday  didn't  happen  aboard  of  the 
Zedekiah.  I  remember  hidin'  away  at  the  back  of 
Ole  Oleson's  bunk,  axing  God  please  to  turn  me  into 
an  animal.  Any  sort  would  do,  because  I  seen  men 
kind  to  animals.     You  know  an  animal  mostly  con-* 

i8 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  19 

sists  of  a  pure  heart,  and  four  legs,  which  is  a  great 
advantage.  Queer  world  though,  if  all  our  prayers 
was  granted. 

Belay  than  A  man  sets  out  to  tell  adventures, 
and  if  his  victims  don't  find  some  excuse  for  getting 
absent,  he  owes  them  all  the  happiness  he's  got.  It's 
mean  to  hand  out  sorrow  to  persons  bearing  their 
full  share  already.  So  we  proceeds  to  the  night  when 
I  ran  from  the  Zedekiah,  and  joined  the  Happy 
Ship. 

We  lay  in  the  big  ice  pack  off  Cape  Breton,  get- 
ting a  load  of  seal  pelts.  All  hands  was  out  on  the 
ice  while  daylight  lasted,  clubbing  seals,  gathering 
the  carcasses  into  pans,  sculping,  then  towing  the 
hides  aboard  to  salt  'em  down. 

We  got  our  supper,  then  turned  in,  bone-weary, 
but  the  ship  groaned  so  that  I  daresn't  sleep.  A  ship 
ain't  got  no  mouth  to  give  her  age  away,  and  yet 
with  ships  and  women  it's  pretty  much  the  same,  for 
the  younger  they  are  the  less  they  need  to  be  painted. 
The  Zedekiah  was  old,  just  paint  an'  punk,  and  she 
did  surely  groan  to  the  thrust  of  the  pack.  I  was  too 
scared  to  sleep,  so  I  went  up  on  deck. 

I'd  alius  watched  for  a  chance  to  run  away,  and 
thar  was  Jim,  the  anchor-watch,  squatting  on  the 


20  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

bitts  dead  asleep.     He  used  to  be  that  way  when  no- 
body chased  him. 

I  daresn't  make  for  the  coast.  You  see  I'd  heard 
tell  of  niggers  ashore  which  eat  boys  who  run  away. 
But  I  seen  the  lights  of  the  three-masted  schooner  a 
couple  of  miles  to  windward.  I  grabbed  a  sealing 
gaff  and  slid  down  on  to  the  ice. 

First,  as  the  pans  rocked  under  me,  I  was  scary, 
next  I  warmed  up,  gettin'  venturesome,  until  I  came 
near  sliding  into  the  wet,  and  after  that  I'd  look  be- 
fore I  lep'.  There'd  been  a  tops'l  breeze  from  the 
norrard,  blowin'  up  since  nightfall  to  a  hurricane, 
and  then  it  blew  some  more,  until  I  couldn't  pole- 
jump  for  fear  of  being  blowed  away.  With  any 
other  ship,  I'd  have  wished  myself  back  on  board. 

You  know  how  the  grinding  piles  an  edge  around 
each  pan,  of  broken  splinters?  That  edge  shone 
white  agin  the  black  of  the  water,  all  the  guide  I 
had.  But  times  the  squalls  of  wind  was  like  scythes 
edged  with  sleet,  so  I  was  blinded,  waiting,  freezing 
until  a  lull  came,  and  I'd  get  on.  It  was  broad  day, 
and  I  reckon  each  step  weighed  a  ton  before  I  made 
that  schooner. 

A  gray  man,  fat,  with  a  chin  whisker,  lifted  me  in 
overside.     "Come  far?"  says  he,  and  I  turned  round 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  21 

to  show  him  the  Zedckiah.     She  wasn't  there.     She 
was  gone — foundered. 

So  that's  how  I  came  aboard  of  the  Happy  Ship, 
just  like  a  HI'  lost  dog,  with  no  room  in  my  skin  for 
more'n  bones  and  famine.  Captain  Smith  used  to  say 
he'd  signed  me  on  as  family  ghost;  but  he  paid  me 
honest  wages,  fed  me  honest  grub,  while  as  to  clothes 
and  bed,  I  was  snug  as  a  little  rabbit.  He  taught  me 
reading  and  writing,  and  punctuation  with  his  belt, 
sums,  hand,  reef,  and  steer,  catechism,  knots  and 
splices,  sewing,  squeegee,  rule  of  the  road,  soojie 
moojie,  psalms  of  David,  constitution  of  the  United 
States,  and  playing  the  trombone,  with  three  pills 
and  a  good  licking  regular  Saturday  nights.  Moth- 
er's little  boy  began  to  set  up  and  take  notice. 

Then  five  years  in  the  Pawtucket  all  along,  from 
Montreal  to  Colon,  from  banjos  plunking  in  them 
portales  of  Vera  Cruz,  to  bugles  crying  revally  in 
Quebec,  and  the  oyster  boats  asleep  by  old  Point 
Comfort,  and  the  Gloucester  fleet  a-storming  home 
past  Sable,  and  dagos  basking  on  Havana  quays. 
Suck  oranges  in  the  dinghy  under  the  moonlight, 
waiting  to  help  the  old  man  aboard  when  he's  drunk ; 
watch  the  niggers  humping  cotton  into  a  tramp  at 
Norfolk;  feel  the  tide-rip  snoring  up  past  Tantra- 


22  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

mar;  reef  home  trys'ls  when  she's  coming  on  to 
blow,  with  the  Keys  to  lee'ard;  can't  I  just  feel  the 
old  Pawnticket  romping  home  to  be  in  time  for 
Christmas ! 

Did  you  hear  tell  that  the  sea  has  feelings — the 
cryin',  the  laugh,  dumb  sorrow,  blazin'  wrath,  the 
peace,  the  weariness,  the  mother-kindness,  the  hush 
like  prayers  of  something  which  ain't  brute,  or  hu- 
man, but  more'n  human,  so  grand  and  awful  you 
hardly  dare  to  breathe? 

Words,  only  words  which  don't  fit,  the  misfits 
which  make  fun  of  serious  thoughts.  We  men  is 
dumb  beasts  which  can't  say  what  we  mean,  whereas 
I've  alius  reckoned  persons  like  cats  and  wolves  don't 
feel  so  much  emotions  as  they  exudes  in  song. 

Seafaring  men  is  sea-wise,  sea-kind,  only  land- 
foolish,  for  there's  things  no  sailorman  knows  how  to 
say,  things  even  landsmen  can't  figure  out  in  dollars 
and  cents. 

Seems  I'm  a  point  off  my  course?  I'm  only  say- 
ing things  the  captain  said,  times  on  a  serious  night 
when  we'd  be  up  some  creek  for  fish,  or  layin'  low 
for  ducks.  If  ever  he  went  ashore  without  me,  I'd  be 
like  a  lost  dog,  and  he  drunk  before  the  sun  was  over 
the  yard-arm.    But  away  together  it  wasn't  master 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  23 

and  boy,  but  just  father  and  son.     He'd  even  named 
me  after  himself,  and  that's  why  my  name's  Smith. 

I  disremember  which  port — somewheres  up  the  St. 
Lawrence  where  we  loaded  lumber  for  the  Gulf  o' 
Mexico,  but  the  captain  and  me  was  away  fishing. 
Mother  had  come  from  the  Labrador  to  find  me,  old 
gray  mother.  They  dumped  her  seal-hide  trunk  on 
our  wharf,  so  one  of  the  china  dogs  inside  got  split 
from  nose  to  tail;  but  mother  just  sat  on  a  bollard, 
and  didn't  give  a  damn.  She  put  on  her  round  horn 
spectacles  to  smile  at  the  mate  aft,  and  the  second 
mate  forward,  the  or'nary  seaman  painting  in  the 
name  board,  and  Bill  in  his  bos'n's  chair  a-tarring 
down  the  rigging,  and  the  bumboat  laundress  who'd 
been  tearing  the  old  man's  shirt-fronts.  Yes,  she'd 
a  smile  for  every  man  jack  that  seemed  to  warm 
their  hearts,  but  nary  a  word  to  interfere  with  work, 
for  she  just  sat  happy  at  the  sight  of  the  Pawnticket, 
and  she  surely  admired  everything,  from  Old  Glory 
to  Blue  Peter — until  our  nigger  cook  came  andj 
spilled  slops  overside.  Seems  he'd  had  news  of  the 
lady,  and  came  to  grin,  but  he  was  back  in  his  galley, 
like  a  rabbit  to  his  burrow,  while  she  marched  up  the 
gangway.  "Can't  abide  dirt,"  says  mother,  and  even 
the  new  boy  heard  not  a  word  else  'cept  the  splash. 


24  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

For  mother  just  escorted  that  nigger  right  through 
the  galley,  out  at  the  other  end,  over  the  port  rail, 
and  boosted  him  into  the  blue  harbor,  for  the  tirst 
and  only  bath  he'd  ever  had.  Then  she  took  off  her 
horn  spectacles,  her  old  buckskin  gloves,  and  her 
bonnet,  and  sot  to  cleaning  a  galley  which  hadn't 
been  washed  since  the  days  of  President  Lincoln. 
Floor,  range,  walls,  beams,  pots,  kettles,  plates  and 
dishes,  she  washed  and  scrubbed  and  polished.  She 
hadn't  time  to  listen  to  the  wet  nigger  or  the  mate, 
and  narry  a  man  on  board  could  get  more  than  yea 
or  nay  out  of  mother.  She  cooked  them  a  supper 
too  good  to  be  eaten  and  spoilt,  then  set  the  dishes  to 
rights,  got  the  lamp  a-shining,  and  axed  to  be  shown 
round  the  ship.  You  should  have  seen  the  idlers  aft 
and  the  boys  forrard,  redding  up  as  if  all  their 
mothers  was  expected.  As  to  the  nigger,  the  fellers 
made  a  habit  of  pitching  him  overboard  until  he  got 
tired  of  coming. 

The  cap'n  and  me  comes  back  along  with  the 
dinghy,  makes  fast,  and  climbs  aboard.  There's  old 
gray  mother,  with  the  horn  specs,  calm  in  her  own 
kitchen,  just  tellin'  us  to  set  right  down  to  supper. 
Cap'n  lives  aft,  and  I  belongs  up  forrard,  being  ordi- 
nary seaman,  and  less  important  aboard  than  the  ol?. 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  25 

man's  pig.  Yet  somehow  mother  knew,  feeding  us 
both  in  the  galley,  and  standing  by  while  we  fed. 
Never  a  word,  but  mother  had  a  light  for  Captain 
Smith's  cigar,  and  her  eyes  looking  hungry  at  me  for 
fear  she'd  be  sent  ashore. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  says  the  captain,  "sent  your  bag- 
gage aft  ?    Oh,  we'll  soon  get  your  baggage  aboard." 

Then  I  heard  him  on  deck  seeing  mother's  dun- 
nage into  the  spare  berth  aft,  and  the  nigger's  turkey 
thrown  out  on  the  wharf. 

Sort  of  strange  to  me  remembering  mother,  gaunt, 
bitter-hard,  always  in  the  right,  with  lots  to  say. 
And  here  was  little  mother  sobbing  her  heart  out  on 
the  breast  of  my  jersey.  Just  the  same  mother 
changed.  Said  she  was  fed  up  with  the  Labrador, 
coming  away  to  see  the  world,  meet  folks,  and  have 
a  good  time;  but  would  I  be  ashamed  of  having  her 
with  me  at  sea?  Surely  that  had  been  old  mother 
back  there  in  the  long  ago  time,  and  now  it  was 
j^oung  mother  laughing  just  because  she'd  cried. 

Shamed?  All  the  ways  down  from  Joe  Beef's 
clear  to  Rimouski  you'll  hear  that  yarn  to-day,  of 
how  the  old  sea  custom  of  winning  a  berth  in  fair 
fight  was  practised  by  a  lady,  aboard  of  the  Pawn- 
ticket. 


26  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

You've  heard  of  ship's  husbands,  but  we'd  the  first 
ship's  mother.  And  the  way  she  crep'  in  was  surely 
insidious.  Good  word  that.  Let  her  draw  stores, 
you  find  she's  steward  and  purser,  just  surely  poison 
to  the  chandlers.  Oh,  she'll  see  to  the  washing,  and 
before  you  can  turn  around,  she's  nurse  and  doctor. 
She's  got  to  be  queen,  and  the  schooner's  a  sea  pal- 
ace, when  we  suddenly  discovered  she  only  signed  as 
cook. 

Now  we're  asleep  at  eleven  knots  on  a  beam  wind, 
and  Key  West  wide  on  the  starboard  bow,  the  same 
being  in  the  second  dog-watch  when  I'm  invited  aft. 
There's  the  old  man  setting  in  the  captain's  place, 
there's  mother  at  the  head  of  the  table  sewing,  and 
she  asks  me  to  sit  in  the  mate's  seat  as  if  I  was  chief 
officer  instead  of  master's  dog. 

"Son,"  says  she — queer,  little,  soft  chuckle,  "son. 
You'll  never  guess." 

I'm  sort  of  sulky  at  having  riddles  put. 

Then  the  old  man  gets  red  to  the  gills,  giggling. 
He  slaps  hisself  on  his  fat  knee  and  wriggles.  Then 
he  up  and  kisses  mother  with  a  big  smack  right  on 
the  lips. 

"Can't  guess?"  says  mother. 

"I'm   the  old  man,"   he  giggles,   "she's  the  old 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  27 

woman."     Then  he  reached  out  his  paw.     "Put  her 
there,  son  !"  says  he;  "what's  yer  name,  boy?" 

He'd  a  hand  like  a  bear  trap.  "Smith!"  I 
squealed.     "Smith !" 

"Fact,"  says  he.  "Fill  yourself  a  goblet  of  that 
'ere  sherry  wine,  with  some  sugar.  Drink,  you  cub, 
to  Captain  and  Mrs.  Smith.  Now  off  with  ye,  and 
pass  the  bottle  forrard." 

There's  me  chuck-a-block  with  shyness,  splutter- 
ing wine,  dumb  as  a  fish  'cause  I've  only  one  mouth 
to  my  face;  then  I'm  to  the  foc'sle,  tellin'  the  boys 
there's  mutiny  on  the  high  seas  with  the  cook  com- 
manding, and  we're  flying  the  aurora  borealis  for  a 
flag,  till  we  load  a  cargo  of  stars,  and  clears  for  par- 
adise. 

Next  day^  or  next  week,  or  maybe  the  Monday 
following,  the  ship's  got  a  headache,  with  the  sky 
sitting  down  on  the  mastheads,  the  sea  like  oil,  the 
sheets  slapping  the  shadows  on  the  deck,  where  the 
tar  boils,  and  our  feet  is  like  overdone  toast. 

We  sailors  is  off  our  feed,  and  Pierre  Legrandeur 
telling  his  beads  till  they  get  pitched  overboard  for 
luck.  Old  man's  in  a  stinking  temper,  mother  abed 
with  sick  headache,  first  mate  like  a  wounded  seal, 
the  second  has  a  touch  of  the  sun,  and  bo's'n  got  a 


28  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

water-pup  on  his  neck.  We  stows  every  stitch  of 
canvas,  sets  a  storm  stays'l  reefed  to  the  size  of  a 
towel,  everything  on  deck's  lashed  solid,  and  the 
glass  is  lookin'  sicker'n  ever.  Then  dad  says  we'd 
best  take  precautions,  so  he  tries  to  house  the  top- 
masts, and  sends  down  for  a  drum  of  oil. 

The  sky's  like  copper  edged  with  sheet  lightning, 
tlicn  there's  scud  in  a  hurry  overhead,  the  horizon 
folding  in,  and  a  funnel-shaped  cloud  to  the  south- 
ard wrapping  up  the  sky.  There's  no  air,  and  I  no- 
ticed the  binnacle  alight,  so  it  must  have  been  nigh 
dark  under  that  funnel  cloud.  Just  as  it  struck,  some 
one  called  out  "All  aboard!"  and  I  heard  the  mate 
yell,  "You  mean,  all  overboard!" 

Couldn't  see  much  at  first,  as  I  was  busy  getting 
mother  out  of  the  drowned  cabin.  When  I'd  passed 
a  halyard  round  her  and  the  stump  of  the  mizzen, 
I'd  just  breathing  time.  The  sea  was  flattened,  white 
under  black  sky,  and  what  was  left  of  us  was  mostly 
blowing  about.  I  felt  sorry  for  Pierre — gone  after 
his  rosary  beads,  and  Mick,  too — he'd  owed  me  a 
dollar.  I  missed  the  masts  some,  and  the  bow- 
sprit. Galley  gone,  too,  and  the  good  old  dinghy 
staved  to  kindlings.  The  ship's  cat  was  mewing 
around  with  no  curling-up  corner  left. 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  29 

Dad  was  just  taking  command  again  of  what  re- 
mained. No  use  shouting  either,  so  he  hung  on  and 
beckoned.  The  masts  overside  were  battering  holes 
in  us,  until  we  cut  adrift.  Then  to  the  pumps,  but 
that  was  sort  of  ex  ojficio  just  to  keep  us  warm. 
Working's  warmer  than  waiting. 

Being  timber-laden  we  couldn't  sink,  which  was 
convenient.  But,  as  mother  said,  there  wasn't  any 
grub  on  the  roof,  and  we  couldn't  go  down-stairs. 
For  instance,  we  wanted  a  drink  of  water. 

Well,  now,  we  been  three  days  refreshing  our 
parched  mouths  with  beer  stories,  when  a  fishing 
vessel  comes  along  smelling  salvage.  Happens  he's 
one  of  them  felucca-rigged  dago  swine  out  of  In- 
victa,  Texas.  Daresn't  tow  a  hair-brush  across  a 
wash  pail  for  fear  of  getting  fouled  in  his  own  haw- 
ser. But  he's  a  champion  artist  at  gesticulations,  so 
he'd  like  to  get  his  picture  in  the  papers  for  rescuing 
shipwrecked  mariners.  His  charges  was  quite  mod- 
erate, too,  for  a  breaker  of  water  and  some  fancy 
grub — until  we  seen  the  bill. 

I  never  knew  till  then  that  our  old  man  was  owner. 
Of  course  that's  all  right,  only  he'd  run  astern  with 
his  insurance.  That's  why  he'd  stay  with  the  ship, 
so  it's  no   good  talking.     As  to  mother,  she  come 


30  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

aboard  the  feluccy,  ship's  cat  in  her  arms,  and  a  sort 
of  cold,  dumb,  going-to-be-good-and-it's-killin'-me 
sort  of  smile.  She  bore  up  brave  until  she  struck  the 
number-one  smell  in  the  dago's  cabin.  "It's  too 
much,"  she  says,  handing  me  the  cat,  "too  much. 
I'm  goin'  back  to  drown  clean," 

She  kissed  me,  and  went  back  aboard  the  wreck. 

But  I  was  to  stay  with  our  sailors  aboard  the  dago, 
to  fetch  Invicta  quick,  and  bring  a  tug.  Dad  trusted 
me,  even  to  play  the  coward  and  quit  him,  I  dread 
to  think  back  on  that  passage  of  four  days  to  the  port 
of  Invicta. 

Now  in  them  days  I  was  fifteen,  and  considered 
homely.  The  mouth  I  got  would  be  large  for  a  dog, 
smile — six  and  three-quarters.  Thar  ashore  at  In- 
victa, I'd  still  look  sort  of  cheerful,  so  all  them  tug 
skippers  took  me  for  a  joke.  It  was  four  days  and 
three  nights  since  I'd  slept,  so  I  suppose  I'd  look 
funny  wanting  to  hire  a  tug, 

I  showed  power  of  attorney,  wrote  in  indelible 
pencil  on  dad's  old  dicky  cravat,  but  the  tugs  ex- 
pected cash,  and  the  agents  went  back  on  me. 

There  was  our  sailors  playing  shipwrecked  heroes, 
which  is  invited  to  take  refreshments,  and  tell  how 
brave  they'd  been,  raising  the  quotations  on  tugs  up 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  31 

to  ten  thousand  dollars.  Better  have  a  whisky  to 
lessen  that  smile  before  it  takes  cramp,  they'd  say. 
And  mother's  voice  seems  to  call  out  of  the  air. 

Nothin'  doing  Saturday  nights  at  the  office,  tug- 
crews  all  ashore,  but  the  port  will  get  a  move  on 
Monday.  Trust  grown  men  to  know  more'n  a  mere 
boy.  Keep  a  stiif  upper  lip,  cheer  up  and  have  a 
drink.  The  glass  is  down,  the  gulls  is  flying  inland, 
thar's  weather  brewing.  I  seen  in  my  mind  the 
sprays  lash  over  the  wreck. 

It  was  dark  when  I  went  to  the  wharves  with  Cap- 
tain McGaw  to  see  the  Pluribus  Unum.  He'd  show 
me  a  tug  cheap  at  ten  thousand  cash — stores  all  com- 
plete, steam  up,  engineer  on  the  premises,  though 
he'd  stepped  ashore  for  a  drink.  Cute  cabin  he'd  got 
on  the  bridge,  cunning  little  glory-hole  forrard. 
Why,  everything  was  real  handy,  so  that  I  only  had 
to  bat  him  behind  the  ear  with  a  belaying-pin,  and 
he  dropped  right  down  the  fore  hatch.  All  I  wanted 
now  was  a  navigating  officer  I  could  trust. 

Which  brings  me  to  Mr.  McMillan,  our  own  sec- 
ond mate,  buying  a  dozen  fried  oysters  in  a  card  box 
with  a  wire  handle,  all  for  twenty-five  cents,  though 
the  girl  seemed  expecting  a  kiss. 

"Hello,   Frankie,"   says   I,   slapping  him  on   the 


32  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

back.  A  foremast  hand  can  make  his  officer  act  real 
dignified  with  less.  "Say,  Mac!  D'ye  know  what 
Greed  done?"  I  grabbed  his  oysters.  "Greed,  he 
choke  puppy,"  says  I,  and  in  my  mind  I  seen  the 
gulls  wheel  round  the  wreck,  where  something's  ly- 
ing huddled.  "Come  on,  puppy!"  says  I,  waving 
Frankie  down  street  with  them  oysters,  so  all  the 
traffic  pauses  to  admire,  and  our  second  officer  is 
running  good.  More  things  I  said,  escorting  him 
maybe  a  mile  aboard  of  the  Pluribus  Unuiii.  And 
there  I  ate  them  oysters  while  he  was  being  coarse 
and  rude,  but  all  the  time  I  seen  the  wreck  heave 
sick  and  sodden  on  the  swell  of  the  gulf,  the  circling 
gulls,  and  how  they  dove  down,  pecking  at  a  huddle 
of  torn  clothes  beside  the  wheel. 

Up  thar  on  the  tug's  masthead  I  was  owning  to 
being  in  the  wrong,  while  Frankie  Mac  was  prom- 
ising faithful  to  tear  my  hide  off  over  my  ears  when 
I'm  caught. 

"Please,  sir,"  says  I,  "it  ain't  so  much  the  oysters 
worries  me.  It's  this  yer  Cap'n  McGaw  I  done  em- 
bezzled. Cayn't  call  it  kidnaped  'cause  he's  over 
sixty,  but  I  stunned  him  illegal  with  a  belaying-pin, 
and  I  hears  him  groaning — times  when  you  stops  to 
pant." 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  33 

But  Frankie  Mac  wouldn't  believe  one  word  until 
he  went  down  in  the  fore  peak  to  inquire,  while  I 
applied  the  hatch,  and  battened  down. 

So  you  see  I'd  got  a  tug,  and  the  crew  aboard,  so 
the  next  thing  was  to  take  in  the  hawsers,  shove  off, 
and  let  her  drift  on  the  ebb. 

It's  a  caution  to  see  how  many  taps  and  things  be- 
sets an  engine-room,  all  of  'em  heaps  efficient.  The 
first  thing  I  handled  proved  up  plenty  steam,  for  my 
left  arm  was  pink  and  blisters  for  a  week.  Next  I 
found  a  tap  called  bilge-valve  injection,  which  lets 
in  the  sea  when  you  wants  to  sink  the  ship.  I  turned 
him  full,  and  went  to  sit  on  the  fore  hatch  while  I 
sucked  my  arm,  and  had  a  chat  with  the  crew. 

They  was  talkative,  and  battering  at  the  hatch 
with  an  ax,  so  I'd  hardly  a  word  in  edgeways.  Then 
they  got  scared  we'd  blow  up  before  we  drowned. 
Alius  in  my  mind  I'd  se^  them  gulls  squawkin' 
around  the  wreck,  and  mother  fighting  them.  That 
heaped  thing  by  the  wheel  was  dad,  for  I  seen  the 
whites  of  his  eyes  as  the  ship  lurched  him.  An'  the 
gulls — 

Cap'n  McGaw  was  pleadin'  with  me,  then  Mr. 
McMillan.  They  swore  they'd  take  me  to  the  wreck 
for  nothin',  they'd  give  their  Bible  oath,  they'd  sign 


34  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

agreements.     McGaw  had  a  wife  and  family  ashore. 
McMillan  was  in  love. 

I  turned  off  the  bilge-valve  injection,  opened  the 
fore  hatch,  and  set  them  two  to  work.  They  was 
quite  tame,  and  that  night  I  slept — only  to  wake  up 
screechin'  at  the  things  I  seen  in  dreams. 

Seven  days  we  searched  for  the  wreck  before  we 
gave  up  a  d  quit,  at  least  the  captains  did.  Then 
night  come  down  black  overhead,  with  the  swell  all 
phosphorescent.  I  alius  think  of  mother  in  a  light 
sea  under  a  black  sky,  like  it  was  that  night,  when 
our  tug  run  into  the  wreck  by  accident. 

I  jumped  first  on  board.  The  poor  hulk  lay  flush 
with  the  swell,  lifting  and  falling  just  enough  to 
roll  the  thin  green  water,  all  bright  specks,  across 
and  across  the  deck.  Mother  was  there,  her  bare 
arm  reaching  out,  her  left  ^.land  lifting  her  skirt,  her 
face  looking  up,  dreaming  as  she  turned,  and  turned, 
and  swayed,  in  a  slow  dance.  It's  what  they  calls  a 
waltz,  and  seems,  as  I  stood  watching,  I'd  almost  see 
the  music  swaying  her  as  she  wove  circles,  water  of 
stars  pouring  over  her  bare  feet.  Seems  though  the 
music  stopped,  and  she  came  straight  to  me.  Speaks 
like  a  HI'  small  girl.  "Oh,  mummy,"  she  says, 
"look,"  and  draws  her  hands  apart  so,  just  as  if  she 


THE    HAPPY    SHIP  35 

was  showing  a  long  ribbon,  "watered  silk,"  she  mut- 
ters, "only  nine  cents  a  yard.  Oh,  mayn't  I,  mayn't 
I,  mummy?" 

And  there  was  dad,  with  all  that  water  of  stars 
washing  across  and  across  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

YOUTH 

ADOG  sets  down  in  his  skin,  tail  handy  for  wag- 
,  ging — all  his  possessions  right  than 
Same  with  me,  setting  on  the  beach,  with  a  cap, 
jersey,  overalls,  sea  boots,  paper  bag  of  peanuts, 
beached  wreck  of  the  old  Pawnticket  in  front,  and 
them  two  graves  astern.  Got  more'n  a  dog  has  to 
think  about,  more  to  remember,  nothin'  to  wag. 
Two  days  I  been  there,  and  the  peanuts  is  getting 
few.  Little  gray  mother,  dad,  the  Happy  Ship,  just 
dead,  that's  all,  dead.  The  tide  makes  and  ebbs,  the 
wind  comes  and  goes,  there's  days,  nights  and  the 
little  waves  beating  time — time — time,  just  as  if  they 
cared,  which  they  don't. 

I  didn't  hear  the  two  horses  come,  but  there's  a 
young  person  behind  me  sort  of  attracting  attention. 
When  he  moves  there's  a  tinkle  of  iron,  creaking 
leather,  horsy  smell,  too,  and  presently  he  sets  down 
along  of  me,  cross-legged.     I  shoved  him  the  pea- 

36 


YOUTH  37 

nuts,  but  he  lit  a  cigarette,  offering  me  one.  Though 
he  wasn't,  he  just  felt  same  as  a  seafaring  man,  so  I 
didn't  mind  him  being  there. 

"The  ocean,"  says  he,  "is  it  alius  like  that?" 

"  'Cept  when  there's  Weather." 

"That's  a  ship  ?" 

"Was." 

"Dead?" 

"Dead." 

He  wanted  to  look  at  my  sheath  knife,  and  when 
I  handed  it  he  seen  the  lettering  "Green  River"  on 
the  blade.  He'd  been  along  Green  River  and  there's 
no  knives  like  that. 

Then  I'd  got  to  know  about  them  iron  things  on 
his  heels — spurs.  We  threw  peanuts,  my  knife  agin 
his  spurs,  and  he  won  easy.  Queer  how  all  the  time 
he's  wanting  to  show  himself  off.  He'd  never  seen 
salt  water  before.  The  shipping,  making  the  port,  or 
clearing,  foreign  or  coastwise,  the  Hellafloat  Yank, 
the  Skowogian  Coffin,  the  family  packet,  liner, 
tramp,  fisher,  lumberman,  geordie  and  greaser  was 
all  the  same  to  him.  "Sounds  like  Injun  languages," 
says  he,  "can't  you  talk  white?"  So  we  v/ent  In 
swimming,  and  afterward  there's  a  lunch  he'd  got 
with  him — quart  of  pickled  onions,  and  cigarettes. 


^8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Seems  it's  the  vacuum  in  under  which  makes  hearts 
feel  so  heavy. 

This  stranger  begins  to  throw  me  horse  talk  and 
cow  stories.  It  seems  cow-punchers  is  sort  of  sailors 
of  the  plains,  only  it's  different.  Seafaring  men  gets 
wet  and  cold,  and  wrecked,  but  cow-boys  has  ad- 
ventures instead,  excitement,  red  streaks  of  life. 
Following  the  sea,  I  been  missing  life.  Why,  this 
guy  ain't  more'n  two  years  older'n  me — say,  seven- 
teen, but  he's  had  five  years  ridin'  for  one  man,  four 
years  for  another,  six  years  in  Arizona,  then  three 
in  Oregon,  until  he's  added  up  about  half  a  century. 
He's  more  worldly,  too,  than  me — been  in  a  train  on 
the  railroad.  I'm  surely  humbled  by  four  P.  M.,  and 
if  he  keeps  goin',  by  four  bells  I'll  be  young  enough 
to  set  in  mother's  lap. 

Says  his  name's  Bull  Durham.  Surely  I  seen 
that  name  on  lil'  sacks  of  tobacco.  Bull  owns  up  this 
baccy's  named  after  his  father.  And  surely  his  old 
man  must  be  pretty  well  fixed.  "That's  so,"  says 
Bull,  blushing  to  show  he's  modest.  "Ye  see,  kid, 
the  old  man's  a  bishop.  Yes,  Bishop  of  Durham,  of 
course.  Lives  over  to  London,  England.  Got  a 
palace  thar,  and  a  pew  in  the  House  of  Lords.  I'll 
be  a  lord  when  he  quits.     I'm  the  Honorable  Bull  by 


YOUTH  39 

rights,  although  I  hate  to  have  the  boys  in  camp 
know  that — make  'em  feel  real  mean  when  all  of  'em 
rides  as  well  as  me,  or  almost,  and  some  can  rope 
even  better." 

"And  you  is  the  young  of  a  real  lord!" 

"Sure.  I'll  have  to  be  a  bishop,  too,  when  I  comes 
into  the  property.  I'm  a  sort  of  vice-bishop,  sonny. 
D'ye  see  these  yere  gloves?  They  got  a  string  to  tie 
'em  at  the  back,  'cause  I  been  inducted.  I  got  an 
entail  I'll  show  you  in  camp,  and  a  pair  of  heredita- 
ments." 

"Vice-bishop,"  says  I,  "is  that  like  bo's'n's  mate? 
I  never  hear  tell  of  a  bishop's  mate." 

"He  mates  in  two  moves,"  says  Bull,  "baptism  and 
conflamation." 

"But,"  says  I,  so  he  just  shuts  me  up,  saying  I 
may  be  ignorant,  but  that  ain't  no  excuse  for  being 
untruthful. 

Well,  his  talk  made  me  small  and  mean  as  a 
starved  cat,  but  that  was  nothing  to  the  emotions  at 
the  other  end  of  me  when  he  got  me  on  one  of  them 
horses.  I  wanted  to  walk.  Walk!  The  most  shame- 
ful things  he  knew  was  walking  and  telling  lies.  If 
I  walked  he'd  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  me.  I 
rode  till  we  got  to  the  ferry. 


40  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

You  know  in  books  how  there's  a  line  of  stars 
acrost  the  page  to  show  the  author's  grief.  I  got  'em 
bad  by  the  time  we  rode  into  Invicta  City.  Draw 
the  line  ris^ht  thar  : 

4:  :}:  ^  *  *  *  * 

We're  having  supper  at  the  Palladium,  and  I'm 
pretty  nigh  scared.  The  goblets  is  all  full  of  pink 
and  white  serviettes,  folded  up  into  fancy  designs, 
which  come  undone  if  you  touched.  There's  a  menu 
to  say  what's  coming,  in  French  so  you  don't  know 
what  you're  eating,  and  durned  if  I  can  find  out 
whether  to  tackle  an  a  la  mode  with  fingers  or  a 
spoon.  Bull  says  it's  only  French  for  puckeroo,  a 
sort  of  four-legged  burrowing  bird  which  inhabits 
silver  mines,  but  if  I  don't  like  that,  the  lady  will 
fetch  me  a  foe  par.  Well,  I  orders  one,  and  by  the 
lady's  face  I  see  I  done  wrong,  even  before  she  com- 
plains to  the  manager.  I'm  surely  miserable  to  think 
I've  insulted  a  lady. 

The  manager's  suspicious  of  me,  but  Bull  talks 
French  so  rapid  that  even  froggy  can't  keep  up,  al- 
though he  smiles  and  shrugs,  and  gives  us  sang- 
f  raws  to  drink. 

This  sort  of  cocktail  I  had,  was  the  first  liquor  I'd 
tasted.     It's  powerful  as  a  harbor  tug,  dropping  me 


YOUTH  41 

out  of  the  conversation,  while  the  restaurant  turns 
slowly  round  with  a  list  to  starboard,  and  Bull  deals 
for  a  basket  in  the  front  window  full  of  decorated 
eggs.  Says  they're  vintage  eggs,  all  verd-antique 
and  bookay.  For  years  the  millionaires  of  Invicta 
has  shrunk  from  the  expense.  My  job  when  we 
leaves  is  to  carry  the  basket,  'cause  Bull's  toting  a 
second-handed  saddle. 

Bull  lets  me  have  cocktails  to  keep  me  from  get- 
ting confused  on  the  night  of  my  day  boo.  I  know  I 
behaves  with  'strordinary  dignity,  and  wants  more 
cocktails. 

I  dunno  why  Bull  has  to  introduce  me  to  the  gen- 
tleman who  keeps  the  peanut  store  down  street — 
seeing  I'd  dealt  there  before.  Anyway,  I'm  intro- 
duced to  Affable  Jones,  and  I'm  the  Markis  of 
Worms — the  same  being  a  nom  de  plume.  We  pro- 
ceeds to  the  opery-house,  climbs  in  through  a  little 
hind  window,  and  finds  a  dressing-room.  Affable 
Jones  dresses  up  as  a  monk,  Bull  Durham  claims  he's 
rigged  out  already  as  a  vice-bishop,  and  I'm  to  be  a 
chicken,  'cause  I'm  dealing  vintage  eggs  in  the  co- 
tillon. All  the  same,  I'm  left  there  alone  for  hours, 
and  it's  only  when  they  comes  back  with  a  cocktail 
that  I'll  consent  to  dressing  up  as  a  chicken — which 


42  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

in  passing  out  through  that  HI'  window  is  some 
crowded.  We  proceeds  up  street,  me  toting  eggs, 
and  practising  chicken-talk,  and  it  seems  the  general 
public  is  surprised. 

So  we  comes  to  the  Masonic  Hall,  which  is  all 
lights,  and  band,  and  fashionable  persons  rigged  out 
in  fancy  dress,  dancing  the  horse  doover.  I  got  the 
name  from  Bull,  who  says  that  the  next  turn  is  my 
day  boo  in  the  omlet  cotillion.  Seems  it's  all  ar- 
ranged, too.  Affable  Jones  lines  up  the  ladies  on  the 
left,  the  dudes  on  the  right,  all  the  length  of  the  hall. 
Bull  marches  up  the  middle,  spurs  trailin'  behind 
him,  and  there's  me  dressed  as  a  chicken,  with  a 
basket  of  eggs,  wondering  whether  this  here  cow-boy 
is  the  two  persons  I  see,  or  only  the  one  I  can  hear. 
Band's  playing  soft,  Affable  serves  out  tin  spoons  to 
the  dudes,  and  I  deals  each  a  decorated  Qg^,  laying 
it  careful  in  the  bowl  of  the  spoon,  till  there's  only  a 
few  left  over,  and  I'm  safe  along  with  Bull. 

So  far  everybody  seems  pleased.  Bull  whispers 
in  my  ear,  "Make  for  the  back  door,  you  son  of  a 
sea  cook,"  which  offends  one,  being  true;  waves  an 
Qgg  at  the  band  for  silence,  and  calls  out,  "Ladies 
and  gents."    From  the  back  door  I  seen  how  all  the 


YOUTH  43 

dudes  has  to  stand  dead  still  for  fear  of  dropping  an 

"Ladies,"  says  Bull,  "has  any  of  you  seen  a  live 
mouse?  On  the  way  up  among  you,  seems  I've 
dropped  my  mouse,  and  it's  climbing  skirts  for  soli- 
tude." 

Then  there's  shrieks,  screams,  ladies  throwing 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  them  dudes,  eggs  drop- 
ping squash,  eggs  going  bang.  Bull  throwing  eggs 
at  every  man  not  otherwise  engaged,  and  such  a 
stink  that  all  the  lights  goes  out.  I'm  grabbed  by 
the  scruff  of  the  chicken,  run  out  through  the  back 
door,  and  slung  on  the  back  of  a  horse.  Bull's  yell- 
ing "Ride!  Ride!  Git  a  move  on!"  He's  flogging 
the  horses  with  his  quirt,  he's  yelling  at  me :  "Ride, 
or  we'll  be  lynched!" 

My  mouth's  full  of  feathers,  chicken's  coming  all 
to  pieces — can't  ride — daresn't  fall  off.  So  on  the 
whole  I  dug  the  chicken's  spurs  into  Mr.  Horse,  and 
rode  like  a  hurricane  in  a  panic.  All  of  which  re- 
minds me  that  the  hinder  parts  of  an  imitation  bird 
is  comforting  whar  she  bumps.  Still,  draw  them 
stars  across.  ^^ 

^  :}:  ^  H<  :f:  9|c  4; 

I'm  feeling  better  with  twenty  miles  between  me 


44  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

and  Invicta  City.  The  sun  transpires  over  the  east- 
ern sky-line,  the  horses  is  taking  a  roll,  I'm  seated 
on  the  remnants  of  the  chicken,  and  Bull  Durham 
says  I'm  his  adopted  orphan.  "You  rode,"  says  he, 
"like  a  pudding  on  a  skewer,  you've  jolted  yo'  tail 
through  yo'  hat,  you  looks  like  a  half-skinned  fool 
hen,  and  you've  torn  that  poor  mare's  mouth  till  she 
smiles  from  ear  to  ear.  Yet  on  the  whole  them  pro- 
ceedings is  cheering  you  up,  and  thar's  more  com- 
ing." 

Looking  back  it  seems  to  me  that  the  first  night's 
proceedings  was  calm.  Thar  was  the  fat  German 
fire  brigade  pursuing  an  annual  banquet  across  lots 
by  moonlight,  all  on  our  way  north,  too,  till  the  wag- 
on capsized  in  a  river. 

Thar  was  the  funeral  obsequies  of  a  pig,  late  de- 
ceased, with  municipal  honors,  until  we  got  found 
out. 

Then  we  was  an  apparition  of  angels  at  a  revival 
camp,  only  Bull's  wings  caught  fire,  and  spoiled  the 
whole  allusion. 

Yes,  when  I  looks  back  on  them  radium  nights 
entertainments  along  with  Bull  Durham,  I  see  now 
what  a  success  they  was  in  learning  me  to  ride. 
"What  you  need,"  says  he,  "is  confidence.     Got  to 


YOUTH  45 

forget  mere  matters  of  habeas  corpus,  and  how  your 
toes  point,  and  whether  you're  looking  pretty.  Just 
trust  yo'  horse  to  pull  through,  so  that  you  ain't 
caught  in  the  flower  of  youthful  innocence,  and 
hung  on  the  nearest  telegraph  pole.  You  still  needs 
eclair  as  the  French  say,  and  you  got  no  ting  bong 
point,  but  your  horse  de  covihat  is  feeling  encour- 
aged to  pack  you  seventy  miles  last  night,  and  we'll 
be  in  camp  by  sundown." 

Once  I  been  to  a  theater,  and  seen  a  play.  Thar's 
act  one,  with  fifteen  minutes  hoping  for  act  two. 
Thar's  act  after  act  till  you  just  has  to  fill  up  the 
times  between  with  injun  war-whoops,  until  act  five, 
when  all  the  ladies  and  gents  is  shot  or  married.  It 
just  cayn't  go  on.  So  the  aujience  says  "Let's  go'n 
have  a  drink,"  and  the  band  goes  off  for  a  drink,  and 
the  lady  with  the  programs  tells  you  to  get  to  hell 
out  of  that. 

It's  all  over.  The  millionaire  Lord  Bishop  of 
Durham  is  only  Bull's  father-in-law.  Bull's  not  ex- 
actly a  cow-boy  yet — but  assists  his  mother,  Mrs. 
Brooke,  who  is  chef  at  a  ranch.  It's  not  exactly  a 
stock  ranch,  but  they  raise  fine  pedigree  hogs.  Bull 
won't  be  quite  popular  with  his  mother  for  having 
gorgeous  celebrations  with  the  hundred  dollars  she'd 


46  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

give  him  to  pay  off  a  little  debt.  I'd  better  not  come 
to  the  ranch  after  leading  mummie's  boy  astray 
from  the  paths  of  virtue. 

No,  I  cayn't  set  a  saddle  without  giving  the  horse 
hysterics,  and  as  for  turning  cow-boy,  what's  the 
matter  with  my  taking  a  job  as  a  colonel?  I'd  best 
climb  off  that  mare,  and  hunt  a  job  afoot.  So  long, 
Jesse. 

There's  the  dust  of  Bull's  horses  way  off  along  the 
road,  and  me  settin'  down  by  the  wayside.  A  dog 
sets  down  in  his  skin,  tail  handy  for  wagging,  all  his 
possessions  around  him.     I  ain't  even  got  no  tail. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   ORDEAL   BY  TORTURE 

THE  Labrador  was  good  to  me,  the  sea  was  bet- 
ter, the  stock  range — wall,  I'd  four  years 
punching  cows,  and  I'm  most  surely  grateful.  Thar's 
plenty  trades  outside  my  scope  of  life,  and  thar's 
ages  and  ages  past  which  must  have  been  plenty  en- 
joyable for  a  working-man.  Thar's  ages  to  come  I'd 
like  to  sample,  too.  But  so  far  as  I  seen,  up  to  whar 
grass  meets  sky,  this  trade  of  punching  cows  appeals 
to  me  most  plentiful.  In  every  other  vocation  the 
job's  just  work,  but  all  a  cow-boy's  paid  for  is  forms 
of  joy — to  ride,  to  rope,  to  cut  out,  to  shoot,  to  study 
tracks  an'  sign,  read  brands,  learn  cow.  A  bucking 
horse,  a  range  fire,  a  gun  fight,  a  stampede,  is  maybe 
acquired  tastes,  for  I've  known  good  men  act  bash- 
ful. 

There's  drawbacks  also — I'd  never  set  up  thirst 
or  sand-storms  as  being  arranged  to  please,  or  claim 
to  cheerfulness  with  a  lame  horse,  or  in  a  sheep 

47 


48  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

range,  no.  But  then  you  don't  know  you're  happy 
till  you  been  miserable,  and  you'd  hate  the  sun  him- 
self if  he  never  set. 

I  ain't  proposin'  to  unfold  a  lot  of  adventures,  the 
same  being  mostly  things  I'd  rather'd  happened  to 
some  one  else.  An  adventure  comes  along,  an'  it's 
"How  d'ye  do?"    It's  done  gone,  and  "Adios/" 

I  was  nigh  killed  in  all  the  usual  ways. 

The  sun  would  find  us  mounted,  scattering  for  cat- 
tle; he'd  set,  leaving  us  in  the  saddle  with  a  night 
herd  still  to  ride.  Hard  fed,  worked  plenty,  all  out- 
doors to  live  in,  and  bone-weary  don't  ax,  "Whar's 
my  pillow?"  No.  The  sun  shines  through  us,  and  if 
it's  cold  we'll  shiver  till  we  sweat.  The  rains,  the 
northers — oh,  it  was  all  so  natural!  Living  with  na- 
ture makes  men  natural. 

We  didn't  speak  much — pride  ain't  talkative. 
Riding  or  fighting  we  gave  the  foreman  every  ounce 
we'd  got,  and  more  when  needed.  Persons  would 
come  among  us,  mean,  dirty,  tough,  or  scared,  sized- 
up  before  they  dismounted,  apt  to  move  on,  too. 
Them  that  stayed  was  brothers,  and  all  our  posses- 
sions usually  belonged  to  the  guy  who  kep'  the  Avood- 
enest  face  at  poker. 

The  world  in  them  days  was  peopled  with  only 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  49 

two  species,  puncher  an'  tenderfoot,  the  last  bein' 
made  by  mistake.  Moreover,  we  cow-boys  belonged 
to  two  sects,  our  outfit,  and  others  of  no  account. 
And  in  our  outfit,  this  Jesse  person  which  is  me,  laid 
claims  on  being  best  man,  having  a  pair  of  gold 
mounted  spurs  won  at  cyards  from  Pieface,  our  old 
foreman.  I'd  a  rolled  cantle,  double-rig  Cheyenne 
of  carved  leather,  and  silver  horn — a  dandy  saddle 
that,  first  prize  for  "rope  and  tie  down"  agin  all 
comers. 

Gun,  belt,  quirt,  bridle,  hat,  gloves,  everything, 
my  whole  kit  was  silver  mounted  and  everything  in 
it  a  trophy  of  trading,  poker,  or  fighting.  Besides 
my  string  of  ponies  I'd  Tiger,  an  entire  black  colt 
I'd  broke — though  I  own  he  was  far  from  convinced. 
Add  a  good  pay-day  in  my  off  hind  pocket,  and  d'ye 
think  I'd  own  up  to  them  twelve  apostles  for  uncles? 
D'ye  know  what  glory  is?  Wall,  I  suppose  it  mostly 
consists  of  being  young. 

In  these  days  now,  I've  no  youth  left  to  boast  of, 
but  it's  sweet  to  look  back,  to  remember  Sailor  Jesse 
at  nineteen,  six  foot  one  and  filling  out,  full  of  orig- 
inal sin,  and  nothin'  copied,  feelin'  small,  too,  for  so 
much  cubic  contents  of  health,  of  growin'  power, 
and  bubbling  fun.     Solemn  as  a  prairie  injun,  too. 


50  A    MAN    IN    THE    OrEN 

knowing  I  was  all  comic  inside,  and  mighty  shy  of 
being  found  out  for  the  three-year  kid  I  was. 

Lookin'  back  it  seems  to  me  that  all  them  vanities 
was  only  part  of  living  natural,  being  natural.  I 
seen  cock  birds  playing  up  much  the  same  to  the 
hen  birds — which  made  believe  most  solemn  they 
wasn't  pleased. 

Time  I  speak  of,  our  outfit  had  turned  over  three 
thousand  head  of  long-horns  to  the  Circle  S  and 
rode  right  into  Abilene.  Thar  we  was  to  take  the 
train  for  our  home  ranch  down  south,  and  I  hoped 
to  get  back  to  my  dog  pup  Rockyfeller.  In  my 
bunk  at  the  ram  pasture,  too,  there  was  a  china  dog, 
split  from  nose  to  tip,  but  repaired.  Yes,  I  keened 
for  home.  And  yet  I'd  never  before  been  on  a  rail- 
road, and  dreaded  the  boys  would  find  out  how 
scared  I  was  of  trains. 

A  sailorman  feels  queer,  steppin'  ashore  on  to 
streets  which  seem  to  heave  although  you  know  they 
don't — yes,  that's  what  a  puncher  feels,  too,  alight- 
ing in  a  town.  Gives  you  a  sort  of  bow-legged  wad- 
dle, and  spurs  on  a  sidewalk  trail  a  lot  too  loud.  I 
lit  in  Abilene  with  a  blush,  and  just  stood  rooted 
while  a  guy  selling  gold  watches  reads  my  name 
graved  on  the  saddle,   and   then   addresses  me   as 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  51 

Mister  Smith.  Old  Pieface,  scared  for  my  morals, 
did  kick  this  person  sudden  and  severe,  but  all  the 
same  that  Mister  went  to  my  head. 

The  smell  of  indoors  made  my  stomach  flop  right 
over  while  we  ranged  up  brave  at  the  bar  for  a  first 
drink.  The  raw  rye  felt  like  flames,  though  the  pre- 
served cherry  afloat  in  it  tasted  familiar,  like  soap. 
At  the  same  time  the  sight  of  a  gambling  lay-out 
made  my  pocket  twitch,  and  I'd  an  inward  convic- 
tion telling  me  this  place  ain't  good  for  kids.  It's 
the  foreman  sent  me  off  with  a  message. 

I  rolled  my  tail,  and  curved  off  with  Tiger  to  take 
in  the  sights  of  the  town.  He  shied  heaps,  and  it's 
curious  to  think  why  he  objected  to  sign-boards, 
awnings,  lamp-posts,  even  to  a  harmless  person  lying 
drunk.  Then  a  railroad  engine  snorted  in  our  face, 
so  Tiger  and  me  was  plumb  stampeded  up  a  little 
side  street.  It's  thar  that  he  bucks  for  all  he's  worth, 
because  of  a  kneeling  man  with  a  straw  hat  and  a 
punctured  soul,  praying  abundant.  Of  course  this 
penitent  turned  round  to  enjoy  the  bucking  match — 
and  sure  reveals  the  face  of  my  ole  friend.  Bull  Dur- 
ham. We  hadn't  met  for  years,  so  as  soon  as  Tiger 
was  tired,  Bull  owned  to  finding  the  Lord,  and  being 
stony  busted,  ask  if  I  was  saved.    I  seen  he'd  got 


52  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

'em  bad,  and  shared  my  wad  of  money  level  with 
him.  So  we  had  cigars,  a  pound  of  chocolate  creams, 
an  oyster  stew,  and  he  bought  a  bottle  of  patent  med- 
icine for  his  liver.  We  shared  that,  and  went  on,  he 
walking  by  my  stirrup  to  the  revival  meeting. 

This  revival  was  happening  at  a  barn,  so  I  rode 
in.  Tiger  you  see,  needed  religion  bad,  and  when 
people  tried  to  turn  him  out,  he  kicked  them.  You 
should  just  have  heard  what  the  preacher  told  the 
Lord  about  me,  and  all  the  congregation  groaned  at 
me  being  so  young  and  fair,  with  silver  harness,  and 
the  hottest  prospects — just  as  Pieface  always  said 
when  I  was  late  for  breakfast. 

They  had  a  great  big  wooden  cross  upon  the  dais, 
and  somehow,  I  dunno  why,  that  made  me  feel 
ashamed.  A  girl  in  a  white  dress  was  singing  Rock 
of  Ages — oh,  most  beautiful,  her  arms  thrown  round 
the  cross,  the  sun-bright  hair  about  her  like  a  glory. 

I  could  a'  cried.  Yes.  For  her  great  cat  eyes  were 
set  on  me,  while  her  voice  went  through  an'  through 
me,  an' — sudden  a  dumb  yearning  happened  inside 
my  belt.  Seems  that  half-bottle  of  liver  dope  had 
scouted  round,  found  all  them  chocolate  creams,  and 
rared  up  for  battle.  But  no,  the  whisky  was  still 
calm,  though  I  felt  pale. 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  53 

Something  was  goin'  wrong,  for  a  most  fright- 
some  panic  clutched  my  throat  Suppose  I'd  caught 
religion !  Oh,  it  couldn't  be  so  bad  as  all  that. 
Fancy  being  saved  like  them  wormy  railroad  men, 
and  town  scouts,  took  abject  because  the  sky  pilot 
was  explaining  hell.  Made  in  God's  image?  No. 
That  don't  apply  to  cowards. 

An'  yet  it's  cows  to  sheep  thar's  something  wrong 
when  tears  runs  down  my  face,  because  a  girl — why 
since  fifteen  I'd  been  In  love  with  every  girl  I  seen. 
As  a  species  they  was  scarce,  some  good,  some  even 
better.  The  sight  of  girls  went  to  my  head  like 
liquor,  and  this  one  was  surely  good  with  her  sun- 
bright  hair,  her  cheeks  flushed  'cause  I  stared,  her 
sulky  lips  rebuking  when  I  throw'd  a  kiss,  her  yel- 
low-brown eyes — 

Oh,  had  I  really  washed  behind  my  ears?  Sup- 
pose I'd  got  high-water  marks!  Was  my  hands — I 
whipped  off  my  gloves  to  inquire.  That's  what's  the 
matter,  sure.  Got  to  make  good  before  bein'  intro- 
duced. Got  to  get  a  move  on  Tiger.  I  swung, 
spurred  with  one  spring  through  the  doors,  )^elled 
"Injuns"  and  stampeded,  scatterin'  gravel  and  panic 
through  Abilene.  I  just  went  like  one  man  for  our 
cook  wagon  down  by  the  railroad  corrals. 


54  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Now,  for  all  the  shaving-glass  could  see,  I  was 
nice  an'  clean,  but  then  that  mirror  has  small  views, 
and  I'm  not  taking  risks,  but  stripped  and  scrubbed 
all  over.  The  place  was  so  durned  public  I  blushed 
from  nose  to  heels  till  I  was  dressed  again,  shining 
my  hair  and  boots.  Then  I  procured  an  extra  spe- 
cial, cherry-red,  silk  scarf  out  of  the  wrangler's  kit. 

Some  of  our  boys  made  friendly  signs  as  I  passed 
on  my  way  back,  and  fired  a  few  shots  after  me  for 
luck,  but  I'd  no  time  to  play.  I  joined  the  revival 
meeting  just  as  the  hat  came  round,  so  penitent  sin- 
ners making  for  the  door,  came  back  to  stay  and  pay 
because  of  Tiger.  I  give  Bull  ten  dollars  to  hand  to 
the  hat,  only  he  passed  it  into  his  own  pocket.  He 
seemed  annoyed,  too,  saying,  "Waste  not,  want  not." 
Then  he  explained  how  the  fire-escape  only  paid 
Miss  Ellis  fifty  dollars  a  day,  whereas  he  was  mak- 
ing hundreds. 

Just  then  she  passed,  and  I  got  Introduced.  "Say,. 
Polly,"  says  Bull,  "here's  Sailor  Jesse  wants  to  get 
acquainted." 

She  stopped,  sort  of  impatient  for  supper,  and  vel- 
vet-soft her  voice,  full  of  contempt. 

"Oh,  pshaw!" 

Hard  gold-brown  eyes  all  scorn,  soft  gold-brown 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  55 

hair,  an'  freckled  neck,  red  lips,  fierce,  tiger  fierce — 

"Another  damned  suppliant?"  she  asked,  and  Bull 
was  holding  a  light  for  her  cigarette.  "Is  it  saved?" 
she  added. 

I  couldn't  speak.  I  wanted  to  tell  her  how  I  de- 
spised all  the  religion  I'd  seen,  the  bigots  it  made,' 
an'  the  cowards.  I'd  rather  burn  with  the  goats  than 
bleat  among  sheep  even  now. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  then,"  she  said  as  though  she 
answered  me,  and  frank  as  a  man  she  gave  her  hand 
to  shake.  "Good  stunt  of  mine,  eh?  Although  I 
own  I'd  like  to  have  that  cross  stage-managed." 

She  passed  the  weather,  admired  Tiger,  talked 
Browns  and  Joneses  with  Bull,  turning  her  back  on 
me,  asked  him  to  supper,  walked  off  with  him,  an' 
that's  all.  Egg-shells  throw'd  in  the  ash-heap  may 
feel  like  I  did  then. 

Nobody  loved  me,  'cept  our  pony  herd,  inquirin' 
piteous  for  food  an'  water.  A  widow  O'Flynn  fed 
me  supper,  her  grub  bein'  so  scarce  and  bad,  poor 
soul,  she  had  to  charge  a  dollar  to  make  it  pay.  She 
kep'  a  wooden  leg,  and  a  small  son.  Our  boys,  of 
course,  was  drunk  by  then,  just  sleepln'  whar  they'd 
fell,  so  I  was  desolate  as  a  moonlit  dog-howl,  ridin' 
herd  with  my  night  horse  whar  Polly's  little  home 


56  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

glowed  lights  across  the  prairie.  I  seen  Bull  and  the 
preacher  leave  there  on  toward  midnight,  walkin' 
sort  of  extravagant  Into  town.  The  lights  went  out. 
Then  times  I'd  take  some  sleep,  or  times  ride  herd 
guarding  her  little  house,  till  the  cold  came,  till  the 
dawn  broke,  till  the  sun  came  up. 

It  was  half  past  breakfast  when  I  seen  Bull  again, 
on  his  knees  like  yesterday,  a-puttin'  up  loud  pray- 
ers, which  made  me  sick.  "Rehearsin',''  says  he, 
"  'cause  Polly's  struck,  and  I'm  to  be  chief  mourner." 

He  was  my  only  chance  of  meetin'  Miss  Polly 
agen,  so  I  was  leadin'  the  talk  around,  when  a  guy 
comes  butting  Into  our  conversation.  He'd  puffed 
sleeves  to  his  pants,  and  was  all  dressed  saucy,  stand- 
ing straddle,  aiming  to  Impress.  "Oh,  whar's  my 
gun?"  says  Bull. 

This  person  owned  to  being  a  gentleman,  with  a 
strong  English  accent.  He'd  'undreds  of  'orses  at 
'ome  in  'Ammersmith,  but  wanted  to  own  an  'ack 
'ere,  don'tcherknow. 

So  Bull  lefts  up  his  eyes  to  Heaven,  praying,  "Oh, 
don't  deliver  us  from  temptation  yet!"  Whereas  I 
confided  with  this  person  about  Bull  being  far  gone 
in  religious  mania.  I  owned  Bull  right  though, 
about  my  bein'  a  sailor,  timid  with  'orses;  and  he 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  57 

seen  for  hisself  the  way  I  was  riding  my  Sam  'orse 
somethin'  dreadful.  Told  me  I'd  ought  to  'old  my 
'ed  'igh  instead  of  'umping.  It's  in  toes,  down  'eels, 
young  feller,  an'  don't  be  'ard  on  the  bally  hanimal. 
He'd  gimme  lessons  only  I  was  frightened,  but  out 
aways  from  town  the  ground  was  softer  for  falling, 
an'  I  gained  courage.  Happens  Miss  Polly's  house 
was  opposite.  I  scrambled  down  ungainly,  shoved 
a  pebble  in  along  Sam's  withers,  and  let  this  gent 
explain  just  how  to  set  an  'ard-mouthed  'unter.  You 
'olds  'is  'ed,  placin'  the  'and  on  the  'orn  of  the  sad- 
dle, so.     Then  hup !    That  pebble  done  the  rest. 

They  claim  these  flying  men  is  safe  while  they 
stays  in  the  air,  herding  with  cherubs.  That's  what's 
the  matter.  It's  only  when  this  early  aviator  came 
down — bang — that  he  lit  on  his  temper,  and  sat  de- 
nouncing me.  Yes,  I'd  been  misunderstood,  and 
when  I  told  him  it  was  all  for  the  best  he  got  usin' 
adjectives.  He  bet  me  his  diamond  ring  to  a  dollar 
he'd  ride  Sam,  and  I  must  own  the  little  man  had 
grit.     He'd  have  won,  too — but  for  Sam. 

Now,  it's  partly  due  to  this  'ere  entertainment,  and 
the  diamond  ring  I  gave  her,  that  Miss  Polly  began 
to  perceive  me  with  the  naked  eye,  and  said  I  might 
come  to  supper. 


58  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

And  that  evening  was  most  surely  wonderful,  in 
a  parlor  all  antimacassars  and  rocker  chairs  with 
pink  bows.  She  showed  me  plush  photo  albums,  and 
hand-painted  pictures  of  ladies  with  no  clothes  on. 
She  played  Abide  with  Me  on  the  harmonium;  she 
made  me  write  poetry  in  her  birthday  book.  There 
was  champagne  wine,  the  little  cigarettes  with 
dreams  inside,  and  a  bottle  no  bigger'n  my  thumb 
smellin'  so  fierce  it  well-nigh  blew  my  head  off.  Oh, 
it  was  all  so  elegant  and  high-toned  that  I  got  proud 
of  being  allowed  indoors. 

Her  people  was  real  society,  her  poppa  an  army 
general,  ruined  by  the  war,  her  mother  prime  Vir- 
ginian. But  then  she'd  gone  on  the  stage,  so  there 
was  mean  suspicions. 

I  I  hold  suspicion  to  be  a  form  of  meanness  when  it 
touches  women.  My  mother  would  have  shied  at 
naked  ladies,  and  dad  was  powerful  agin  cigarettes. 
As  for  the  smell,  so  fierce  it  had  to  be  bottled,  I'll 
own  up  I  was  shocked.  But  then  you  see  mother, 
and  dad,  an'  me  being  working  people,  was  not  sup- 
posed to  feel  the  high-toned  senses  which  belongs 
with  wealth.  It's  not  for  grade  stock  like  me  to  set 
up  as  judge  on  thoroughbreds,  or  call  a  lady  im- 
moral for  using  a  spoon  whar  I  should  need  a  shovel. 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  59' 

No,  I  was  playing  worldliness  for  fear  this  lady'd 
think  me  ignorant.  I  was  no  more'n  a  little  child 
strayed  among  civilization,  scared  of  being  found 
out  childish.  And  I  was  surely  pani'^.ky  in  a  house 
— belonged  outdoors  among  horses. 

So  it  happened  that  In  them  days,  while  I  rode 
guard  upon  Miss  Polly,  no  man  in  Abilene  could 
speak  to  her,  or  mention  her  name  to  me  until  I  give 
him  leave.  She  got  to  be  known  as  Sailor  Jesse's 
kill,  and  any  person  touching  on  my  kill  was  apt  to 
require  a  funeral. 

It  was  the  seventh  day  she  married  me.  I  know, 
because  Bull,  acting  as  best  man,  claimed  a  kiss, 
which  she  gave  him.  "Bull,"  says  she,  "didn't  I  bet 
you  I'd  marry  Sailor  Jesse  within  a  week?  You 
owe  me  twenty  dollars."  I  saw  the  joke  was  on 
me. 

I'd  been  in  a  dream.  Love  had  made  the  yellow 
prairie  shine  like  gold,  that  little  prairie  home  a  holy 
place,  the  woman  in  it  something  I'd  kneel  and  pray 
to.  There'd  be  HI'  small  children  soon  for  me  to 
play  with,  pride  in  earning  food,  the  great  big  honor 
of  guarding  all  of  that  from  harm. 

I  came  to  marriage  pure  as  any  bear,  or  wolf,  or 
fox,  expecting  to  find  my  mate  the  same  as  me,  getter 


6o  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

and  giver  of  life,  true  to  the  earth,  and  fearless  in 
doin'  right. 

Folks  said  I  was  young  to  marry  at  nineteen,  but 
full  nine  years  I'd  earned  my  living,  fought  my  way, 
and  done  my  share  of  making  happiness.  I'd  been 
served  with  a  mouth  full  wide  enough  for  laughin', 
a  face  which  made  folks  smile  when  I  was  sad,  eyes 
to  see  fun,  the  heart  to  take  a  joke  If  any  offered, 
and  when  things  hurt,  I  wasn't  first  to  squeal.  No: 
as  long  as  the  joke  was  on  me  I  done  my  best  to  take 
it  like  a  man. 

But  suppose — Well,  I'd  best  explain  that  the  Eng- 
lish tenderfoot  was  at  our  wedding  breakfast,  and 
gettin'  encouraged,  he  put  up  his  best  prize  joke. 
He  was  all  hoo,  hoo,  hoo  at  first,  so  funny  he  couldn't 
speak,  the  fellows  waitin'  each  with  his  grin  gettin' 
stale,  and  Polly  laughing  just  to  encourage  him  on. 
Then  words  got  out  which  made  the  boys  uneasy. 
Jake  Haffering  the  Bar  T  foreman,  told  the  hog  to 
shut  up,  while  others  moved  to  get  clear.     I  was  sort 
of  stupid,  wanting  the  point  explained,  couldn't  be- 
lieve it  possible  the  joke  was  on  my  wife,  although 
I'd  rose  by  then,  with  gun  hand  free.     Then  I  saw, 
but  the  room  seemed  dark,  and  the  tenderfoot  all  in- 
distinct, backing  away,  and  reaching  slovenly  for 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE         6i 

weapons,  while  my  bullet  smashed  in  his  shoulder. 
It  slued  him  around  as  he  dropped. 

I  could  hear  the  flies  in  the  window  buzzing  as  I 
came  to  myself,  seeing  the  hot  street  outside,  the  yel- 
low plains  beyond. 

It  was  old  Jake  of  the  Bar  T  who  spoke  out  then, 
and  spoke  straight. 

"My  boy,"  says  he,  "put  up  your  gun.  That's 
right.  This  here  tenderfoot  is  bleedin'  by  spurts, 
arterial.  Bull,  see  if  Doc  Stuart  is  sober."  Bull  ran 
for  the  doctor.  "Only  a  tenderfoot,"  says  Jake,  "in- 
sults a  cow-boy's  wife — which  is  death  from  natural 
causes.  Ma'am,"  he  wagged  his  finger  at  Polly, 
"  'tain't  long  since  you  come  among  us.  'Tain't 
more'n  a  day  since  you  told  me  and  others  present 
that  you  was  marryin'  for  fun.  You  laughed  at 
warnings,  and  this  here  Jesse  would  have  shot  the 
man  who  warned  him.  You  are  a  lady,  and  this  boy 
you  married  for  fun,  is  goin'  to  see  you  treated  as  a 
lady.  I  own  he  got  rattled  first  shot,  missing  this 
tenderfoot's  heart,  which  ain't  up  to  average  prac- 
tise ;  but  it's  time  you  began  to  see  the  point  of  the 
joke." 

They  took  the  tenderfoot  away,  and  we  were 
alone,  me  watching  the  pool  of  red  blood  turning 


62  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

brown.  Polly  sat  drumming  tunes  on  the  table,  hef 
face  turned  white,  staring  out  through  the  window  at 
the  noon  heat  of  the  plains.  I  remember  I  took  a 
bottle  of  champagne  wine,  filled  a  big  goblet,  and 
drank  it  off.  The  flies  were  buzzing  still  agin  the 
window.  It  made  me  laugh  to  think  she'd  taught 
me  drinking,  so  I  had  another,  watching  the  flies 
hold  congress  on  the  floor.  "I  see,"  says  Polly, 
"I  understand  now."  At  that  she  began  to 
scream. 

I  should  have  told  you,  that  after  our  boys  of  the 
Flying  Zee  quit  Abilene,  I  pitched  a  little  A  tent  on 
the  prairie  back  of  Polly's  house.  Thar  I  could  see 
my  ponies  at  grass,  and  snuff  the  air  clear  of  that 
stinking  town. 

But  from  the  time  I  moved  into  the  house,  thar 
was  something  disturbing  my  nose — something  un- 
easy— oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  back  of  all 
house  smells,  which  give  me  a  sense  of  evil,  so  I 
could  hardly  bear  to  stay  indoors. 

And  there  were  signs.  I'd  come  back  from  some 
errand  into  town,  to  find  a  man's  track  leading  into 
the  door,  when  Polly  claimed  she  had  no  visitors. 
Why  should  she  say  she'd  been  alone  all  morning, 
when  there's  pipe  ashes  on  the  parlor  table,  or  I'd 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE  63 

catch  the  wet  smell  from  a  chewed  cigar?  She  only 
laughed. 

Comin'  from  town  one  night — she'd  sent  me  there 
— I  seen  a  man's  shadow  cross  the  parlor  blind.  I 
fired,  missing,  a  fool's  act,  for  it  warned  him,  and 
gave  him  time.  The  lamp  was  out  before  I  reached 
the  house,  and  Polly  with  some  hysterics  getting  in 
my  way. 

It  wouldn't  be  sense  to  show  a  match  guiding  the 
stranger's  aim,  or  to  stand  against  a  window,  or 
make  sounds.  Rather  I  stood  right  still,  and  after  a 
while  Polly  surprised  herself  into  dead  silence.  I 
couldn't  hear  that  man,  or  feel,  or  see  him.  I  could 
smell  him,  but  that  don't  supply  his  bearings,  I 
could  taste  the  air  from  him,  but  that  flickered.  I 
sensed  him.  Can't  explain  that — no.  You  just  feel 
if  a  man  stares  hard.  I  fired  at  that.  Then  Polly,  of 
course,  went  off  into  all  sorts  of  fits. 

Next  morning  I  tracked  blood  sign  to  the  hospital. 
Seems  a  young  person  from  the  bank  had  took  to 
conjuring  and  swallowed  lead. 

It  was  still  before  breakfast  that  I  told  Polly  to 
pack  her  dunnage,  'cause  we  was  moving  out  from 
Abilene.  I  claimed  I  could  earn  enough  to  keep  my 
wife  without  her  needing  to  go  out  into  society. 


64  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"On  cow-boy  pay?"  she  said  laughing.  "On  forty 
dollars  a  month  ?  I  spend  more'n  that  on  cham- 
pagne. Here  you  Miss  Jesse,  who's  payin'  for  this 
— you?  Who  keeps  you,  eh.  Miss  Prunes — and — ■ 
prisms?  Shamed  of  my  bein'  a  lady,  eh?  I  am.  a 
lady,  too,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  And  now,  git  out 
of  my  home." 

I  struck  a  match  to  the  bo-kay  of  paper  flowers, 
heaped  on  the  hand-painted  pictures,  the  paper  fans, 
the  rocker  chairs,  and  slung  the  coal-oil  lamp  into 
the  flames ;  then  while  she  tore  my  shoulder  with  her 
teeth,  I  carried  her  to  my  tent.  "That's  your  home 
now,"  I  said,  "the  home  of  an  honest  working-man," 
I  said,  "and  if  another  tough  defiles  my  home,  I'll 
kill  you." 

The  house-warming  gathered  the  neighbors,  but 
she  had  no  use  for  neighbors.  Only  they  seen  the 
line  I  drew  in  the  dust  around  that  teni:,  the  dead- 
line. Afterward  if  any  man  came  near  that  line, 
she'd  scream. 

But  she'd  taught  me  to  drink,  an'  I  drank,  day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  while  she  sat  frightened 
in  the  tent,  moaning  when  I  came.  Only  when  she 
was  cured  could  I  get  work,  not  while  I  had  to 
watch  all  day,  all  night.     Only  when  she  was  cured 


THE    ORDEAL    BY    TORTURE         65 

could  I  get  work,  make  good,  an'  keep  my  wife  as 
women  should  be  kept.  And  I — and  I — why  if  I  let 
myself  get  sober  once  I'd  remember,  and  remember, 
and  go  mad. 

She  swore  she  loved  me,  she  vowed  that  she'd  re- 
pented, and  I  believed  until  she  claimed  religion. 
I'd  seen  her  breed  of  religion.  I'd  rather  have  her 
atheist  than  shamming.  She  would  keep  straight, 
and  be  my  faithful  wife  if  I'd  quit  drinking,  if  I'd 
only  take  her  away.  But  she'd  married  me  for  a 
joke,  and  false  as  a  cracked  bell  she'd  chime  out  lies 
and  lies,  knowing  as  I  knew  that  if  she'd  ever  been 
the  thing  she  claimed,  I'd  come  into  her  life  too  late. 
How  could  she  be  the  mother  of  my  children,  when 
— I  drank,  and  sold  my  ponies  to  buy  liquor,  for 
there  was  no  way  out. 

And  by  the  time  I'd  only  Tiger  left,  one  night 
came  Bull  to  find  me  just  as  dusk  was  falling.  He'd 
been  away,  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  weeks,  and  when 
he  came  to  me  in  the  Roundup  saloon,  I  seen  how 
frightened  he  was  of  speaking  to  me.  I  was  drunk, 
too,  scarce  knowing  what  he  said,  just  telling  him  to 
shut  up  and  have  a  drink.  Polly's  bin  hurt?  Well, 
that's  all  right — have  rye — Polly's  been  shot  ?  That's 
good,  we'd  all  have  drinks.    Was  she  dead? 


66  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

She  was  dead. 

And  I  was  sober  then  as  I  am  now. 

"Murdered?"  Tasked. 

"Jesse,  she  shot  herself." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"Through  the  brow — above  the  eyes.  Come, 
Jesse." 

Next  thing  I  was  standing  in  the  tent  door,  and  it 
was  so  dark  inside  I  had  to  strike  a  match.  The 
sulpliur  tip  burned  blue,  the  wood  flared,  and  for 
that  moment,  bending  down,  I  seen  the  black  dark 
hole  between  the  eyes,  the  smear  of  drying  blood. 
Then  the  match  went  out,  and  I — that  was  enough. 

I  gave  Bull  what  I'd  left,  to  pay  for  burial. 

Then  I  was  riding  Tiger  all  alone,  with  my 
shadow  drawin'  slowly  out  ahead  as  the  moon 
waned. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   BURNING   BUSH 

AMONG  the  Indians,  before  a  boy  gets  rated 
warrior,  he  goes  alone  afoot,  naked,  starvin', 
thirsty,  way  off  to  the  back  side  of  the  desert.  Thar 
he  just  waits,  suns,  weeks,  maybe  a  whole  moon,  till 
the  Big  Spirit  happens  to  catch  his  eye.  Then  the 
Big  Spirit  shows  him  a  stick,  or  a  stone,  or  any  sort 
of  triflin'  common  thing,  which  is  to  be  his  medicine, 
his  wampum,  the  charm  which  guards  him,  hunting, 
or  in  war.  There's  the  ordeal,  too,  by  torture,  done  in 
the  medicine  lodge,  so  all  the  chiefs  can  see  he's  fit 
for  bearin'  arms.  He's  given  the  war-path  secret, 
taking  his  rank  as  a  man. 

Among  them  Bible  Indians  you'll  remember  a 
feller  called  Moses,  out  at  the  back  side  of  the  desert, 
seen  the  Big  Spirit  in  a  burning  bush.  Later  his 
tribe  set  up  a  medicine  lodge,  and  the  hull  story's 
mighty  natural. 

This  Indian  life  explains  a  lot  to  men  like  me, 

67 


68  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

raised  ignorant,  never  grown-up — or  at  least  not  to 
hurt.  I  had  the  ordeal  by  torture,  which  done  me 
good,  and  I  been  whar  Moses  went,  and  the  Lord 
Christ  too,  seeking  the  medicine  of  the  Almighty 
Father. 

For  as  Fd  broken  ponies  for  their  good  till  they 
got  peaceful,  so  I  was  broke  myself.  Bein'  full  of 
pride  an'  sin  as  a  young  horse,  so  I  was  tamed  until 
He  reckoned  me  worth  pasturage.  Before  then  Fd 
work  hard — ^yes,  for  pride.  A  bucking  horse  throws 
miles,  sheer  waste  into  the  air,  miles  better  pulled  out 
straight  the  way  you're  goin'.  I  work  for  service, 
now. 

You  know  when  you've  been  in  trouble,  how  you 
swing  back  thinking  of  edged  words  which  would 
have  cut,  and  dirty  actions  that  you  wish  you'd  done. 
These  devils  has  got  to  go  if  you'd  keep  your  man- 
hood, harder  to  beat  out  than  a  talky  woman,  and 
even  the  littlest  of  them  puts  up  a  heap  big  fight. 
But  when  the  last  is  killed,  there's  room  for  peace. 

Sloth  walks  in  front  of  trouble,  peace  follows 
after.  Water  is  nothing  till  you  thirst,  rest  nothing 
till  you're  weary,  calm  nothing  till  you've  faced  the 
storm,  peace  nothing  until  after  war.  But  peace  is 
like  the  water  after  thirst,  rest  when  you're  weary, 


THE    BURNING    BUSH  69 

calm  after  storm,  earnings  of  warriors  only.  Many 
find  peace  in  death,  only  a  few  in  life,  and  I  found 
peace  thar  in  the  wilderness,  the  very  medicine  of 
torn  souls,  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty 
Father. 

And  I  found  wealth.  Seems  there's  many  persons 
mistaking  dollars  for  some  sort  of  wealth.  I've  had 
a  few  at  times  by  way  of  samples,  the  things  which 
you're  apt  to  be  selfish  with,  or  give  away  to  buy 
self-righteousness.  Reckoning  with  them  projuces 
the  feeling  called  poverty.  They're  the  very  stuff 
and  substance  of  meanness,  and  no  man  walks 
straight-loaded.  Dollars  gets  lost,  or  throwed  away, 
or  left  to  your  next  of  kin,  but  they're  not  a  good 
and  lasting  possession.     I  like  'em,  too. 

What's  the  good  and  lasting  possession,  the  real 
wealth?  Times  I've  been  down  in  civilization,  meet- 
ing folks  who'd  been  rusting  and  rotting  on  one  spot, 
from  a  while  or  so  to  a  long  lifetime,  aye,  and  proud 
to  boast  in  long  decaying.  They'd  good  memory, 
but  nothing  to  remember.  They're  handy  enough  as 
purses  if  they  were  filled  with  coin.  But  where 
they're  poor  I'm  rich,  with  wealth  of  memories,  some 
good,  some  bad,  all  real.  In  coin  like  "seen"  and 
"known"  and  "done"  I'm  millionaire.     Ah,  yes,  but 


70  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

times  I  wisht  that  I  could  part  with  things  I've 
"lived"  to  help  beginners,  and  keep  moths  out  of 
candles.  Things  lived  ain't  current  coin  to  be  given, 
sold,  lost,  thrown,  aye,  or  bequeathed.  My  body's 
meat  and  bones,  my  soul's  the  life  I've  lived,  and 
mine  until  I  square  accounts  with  God.  Queer  reck- 
oning that  last.  I  guess  He'll  have  to  laugh,  and  He 
who  made  all  life  plumb  full  of  humor,  is  due  to  en- 
joy some  things  He'll  have  to  punish. 

I  found  peace,  I  found  wealth,  yes,  and  found 
something  more  thar  in  the  wilderness.  Sweet  as 
the  cactus  forest  in  blossom  down  Salt  River  is  that 
big  memory. 

It  was  after  I'd  found  the  things  of  happy  soli- 
tude. I'd  gone  to  work  then  for  the  Bar  Y  outfit, 
breaking  the  Lightning  colts.  We  was  out  a  few 
weeks  from  home,  taking  an  outfit  of  ponies  as  far 
as  the  Mesa  Abaho,  and  one  night  camped  at  the 
very  rim-rock  of  the  Grand  Canon.  The  Navajo 
Indians  was  peevish,  the  camp  dry,  grass  scant,  herd 
In  a  rafiish  mood,  and  night  come  sudden. 

I'd  just  relieved  a  man  to  get  his  supper,  and  rode 
herd  wide  alert.  I  scented  the  camp  smoke,  saw  the 
spark  of  fire  glow  on  the  boys  at  rest,  and  heard 
their  peaceful  talk  hushed  in  the  big  night     They 


THE  BURNING  BUSH  yt 

seemed  such  triflin'  critters  full  of  fuss  since  dawn, 
so  small  as  insects  at  the  edge  of  nothin',  while  for 
miles  beneath  us  that  old,  old  wolfy  Colorado  River 
was  playing  the  Grand  Canon  like  a  fiddler  plays  a 
fiddle.  But  the  river  in  the  canon  seemed  no  more 
than  a  trickle  in  a  crack,  hushed  by  the  night,  while 
overheard  the  mighty  blazing  stars — point,  swing, 
and  drive,  rode  herd  on  the  milky  way.  And  that 
seemed  no  more  than  cow-boys  driving  stock.  Would 
God  turn  His  head  to  see  His  star  herds  pass,  or  no- 
tice our  earth  like  some  lame  calf  halting  in  the  rear? 

And  what  am  I,  then? 

That  was  my  great  lesson,  more  gain  to  me  than 
peace  and  wealth  of  mind,  for  I  was  humbled  to  the 
dust  of  earth,  below  that  dust  of  stars.  So  as  a  very 
humble  thing,  not  worth  praying  for,  at  least  I  could 
be  master  of  myself.  I  rode  no  more  for  wages,  but 
cut  out  my  ponies  from  the  Lightning  herd,  mounted 
my  stud  horse  William,  told  the  boys  good-by  at 
Montecello,  and  then  rode  slowly  north  into  the  Brit- 
ish possessions.  So  I  come  at  last  to  this  place,  an 
old  abandoned  ranch.  There's  none  so  poor  in  dol- 
lars as  to  envy  ragged  Jesse,  or  rich  enough  to  want 
to  rob  my  home.  They  say  there's  hidden  wealth 
whar  the  rainbow  goes  to  earth — that's  whar  I  live. 


PART   II 


CHAPTER  I 

TWO   SHIPS   AT   ANCHOR 

Kate's  Narrative 

MY  horse  was  hungry,  and  wanted  to  get  back 
to  the  ranch.  I  was  hungry  too,  but  dared 
not  go.  I  had  left  my  husband  lying  drunk  on  the 
kitchen  floor,  and  when  he  woke  up  it  would  be 
worse  than  that. 

For  miles  I  had  followed  the  edge  of  the  bench 
lands,  searching  for  the  place,  for  the  right  place, 
some  point  where  the  rocks  went  sheer,  twelve  hun- 
dred feet  into  the  river.  There  must  be  nothing  to 
break  the  fall,  no  risk  of  being  alive,  of  being  taken 
back  there,  of  seeing  him  again.  But  the  edge  was 
never  sheer,  and  perhaps  after  all,  the  place  by  the 
Soda  Spring  was  best.  There  the  trail  from  the 
ranch  goes  at  a  sharp  turn,  over  the  edge  of  the 
cliff's  and  down  to  the  ferry.  Beyond  there  are  three 
great  bull  pines  on  a  headland,  and  the  cliff"  is  sheer 
for  at  least  five  hundred  feet.  That  should  be  far 
enough. 

75 


76  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

I  let  my  horse  have  a  drink  at  the  spring,  then  we 
went  slowly  on  over  the  soundless  carpet  of  pine 
needles.     I  would  leave  my  horse  at  the  pines. 

Somebody  was  there.  Four  laden  pack-ponies 
stood  in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  switching  their  tails 
to  drive  away  the  flies.  A  fifth,  a  buckskin  mare, 
unloaded,  with  a  bandaged  leg,  stood  in  the  sunlight. 
Behind  the  nearest  tree  a  man  was  speaking.  I 
reined  my  horse.  "Now  you,  Jones,"  he  was  saying 
to  the  injured  beast,  "you  take  yo'self  too  serious. 
You  ain't  goin'  to  Heaven?  No!  Then  why  pack 
yo'bag?    Why  fuss?" 

I  had  some  silly  idea  that  the  man,  if  he  discov- 
ered me,  would  know  what  business  brought  me  to 
this  headland.     I  held  my  breath. 

"And  since  you  left  yo'  parasol  to  home,  Jones, 
come  in  under  out  of  the  sun.  Come  on,  you  sun- 
struck  orphan." 

His  slow,  delicious,  Texan  drawl  made  me  smile. 
I  did  not  want  to  smile.  The  mare,  a  very  picture  of 
misery,  lifted  her  bandaged,  frightfully  swollen  leg, 
and  hobbled  into  the  shade.  I  did  not  want  to  laugh, 
but  why  was  she  called  Jones?  She  looked  just  like 
a  Jones. 

"The  inquirin'  mind,"  said  the  man  behind  the 


TWO    SHIPS   AT   ANCHOR  11 

tree,  "has  gawn  surely  astray  from  business,  or  you'd 
have  know'd  that  rattlers  smells  of  snake.  Then  I 
asks — why  paw?" 

His  voice  had  so  curious  a  timbre  of  aching  sym- 
pathy. He  actually  began  to  argue  with  the  mare. 
"I've  sucked  out  the  pizen,  Jones,  hacked  it  out  with 
my  jack-knife,  blowed  it  out  with  powder,  packed 
yo'  pastern  with  clay — best  kind  of  clay — million- 
aires cayn't  buy  it.  And  I've  took  off  your  cargo. 
Now  what  more  kin  I  do?  Feedin'  bottle's  to  home, 
and  we're  out  of  cough  mixture.  Why,  what  on 
airth— " 

The  mare,  with  her  legs  all  astraddle,  snorted  in 
his  face. 

"Sugar  is  it?    Why  didn't  ye  say  so  befo'?" 

Jones  turned  her  good  eye  on  the  man  as  though 
she  had  just  discovered  his  existence,  hobbled  brisk- 
ly after  him  while  he  dug  in  his  kitchen  boxes,  made 
first  grab  at  the  sugar  bag,  and  got  her  face  slapped. 
The  man,  always  with  his  eye  upon  the  mare,  re- 
turned to  his  place,  and  sat  on  his  heel  as  before. 
"Three  lumps,"  he  said,  holding  them  one  by  one  to 
be  snatched.  "You're  acting  sort  of  convalescent, 
Jones.    No  more  sugar.    And  don't  be  a  hawg!" 

The  mare  was  kissing  his  face. 


78  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Back  of  all!  Back  water!  Thar  now,  thank  the 
lady  behind  me!" 

And  I  had  imagined  my  presence  still  unknown. 

"How  on  earth,"  I  gasped,  "did  you  know  I  was 
here?" 

The  man's  eyes  were  still  intent  upon  the  wounded 
mare.     "Wall,  Mrs.  Trevor,"  he  drawled. 

"You  know  my  name?  Your  back  has  been  turned 
the  whole  time!  You've  never  seen  me  in  your  life 
— at  least  I've  never  seen  you!" 

"That's  so,"  he  answered  thoughtfully.  "I  don't 
need  tellin'  the  sound  of  that  colt  yo*  husband 
bought  from  me.  As  to  the  squeak  of  a  lady's  pig- 
skin saddle,  thar  ain't  no  other  lady  rider  short  of  a 
hundred  and  eighty-three  and  a  half  miles." 

What  manner  of  man  could  this  be?  My  colt  was 
drawing  toward  him  all  the  time  as  though  a  mag- 
net pulled. 

"This  Jones,"  the  man  went  on,  "bin  bit  by  a 
snake,  is  afraid  she'll  be  wafted  on  high,  so  my  eyes 
is  sort  of  engaged  in  holding  her  down  while  she 
swells.  She  kicked  me  hearty,  though,  and  loading 
sugar's  no  symptom  of  passing  away,  so  on  the 
whole  I  hope  she'll  worry  along  while  I  cook  din- 
ner." 


TWO    SHIPS    AT   ANCHOR  79 

He  stood  facing  me,  the  bag  still  in  his  hand,  and 
my  colt  asking  pointedly  for  sugar.  Very  tall,  gaunt, 
deeply  tanned,  perhaps  twenty-five  years  of  age,  he 
seemed  to  me  immeasurably  old,  so  deeply  lined  was 
his  face.  And  yet  it  was  the  face  of  one  at  peace. 
Purity  of  life,  quaint  humor,  instant  sympathy,  may 
perhaps  have  given  him  that  wonderful  charm  of 
manner  which  visibly  attracted  animals,  which  cer- 
tainly compelled  me  as  I  accepted  his  invitation  to 
dinner.  I  had  been  away  since  daybreak,  and  now 
the  sun  was  entering  the  west.  As  to  my  purpose, 
that  I  felt  could  wait. 

So  I  sat  under  the  pines,  pretending  to  nurse 
Jones  while  the  shadows  lengthened  over  the  tawny 
grass,  and  orange  needles  flecked  fields  of  rock,  out 
to  the  edge  of  the  headland. 

The  man  unsaddled  my  horse,  unloaded  his 
ponies,  fetched  water  from  the  spring  of  natural 
Apollinaris,  but  when,  coming  back,  he  found  me 
lighting  a  fire,  he  begged  me  to  desist,  to  rest  while 
he  made  dinner.  And  I  was  glad  to  rest,  thinking 
about  the  peace  beyond  the  edge  of  the  headland. 
Yet  it  was  interesting  to  see  how  a  man  keeps  house 
in  the  wilderness,  and  how  different  are  his  ways 
from  those  of  a  woman.     No  housewife  could  have 


So  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

been  more  daintily  clean,  or  shown  a  swifter  skill, 
or  half  the  silent  ease  with  which  this  woodsman 
made  the  table-ware  for  one,  enough  to  serve  two 
people.    But  a  woman  would  not  clean  a  frying-pan 
by  burning  it  and  throwing  on   cold  water.      He 
sprinkled  flour  on  a  ground  sheet,  and  made  dough 
without  wetting  the  canvas.   Would  I  like  bread,  or 
slapjacks,  or  a  pie?    He  made  a  loaf  of  bread,  in  a 
frying  pan  set  on  edge  among  glowing  coals,  and, 
wondering  how  a  pie  could  possibly  happen  without 
the  assistance  of  an  oven,  I  forgot  all  about  that  cliff. 
He  parboiled  the  bacon,  then  peppered  it  while  it 
was  frying.     When  the  coffee  boiled,  he  thrust  in  a 
red  coal  to  throw  the  grounds  to  the  bottom.     HI 
thought  of  English  picnics,  that  was  by  way  of  con- 
trast.    My  host  had  never  known,  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten, the  shabby  barriers,  restraints,  and  traditions 
of  that  world  where  there  are  picnics.  Frontiersmen 
are,  I  think,  really  spirits  strayed  out  of  chivalric 
ages  into  our  century  of  all  vulgarities.  They  are  not 
abased,  but  only  amused  by  our  world's  condescen- 
sions.    Uneducated?     They  are  better  trained  for 
their  world  than  we  are  for  ours.    Their  facts  are  at 
first-hand  from  life,  ours  only  at  second-hand  from 
books.     Illiterate?     I  should  like  to  see  one  of  our 


TWO    SHIPS    AT    ANCHOR  Si 

professors  read  the  tracks  on  a  frontier  trail.  What 
was  the  good  of  the  education  which  had  led  me  to 
the  brink  of  this  cliif  ?  My  host,  who  lived  always 
at  the  edge  of  death,  had  eyes  which  seemed  to  see 
my  very  thoughts.  How  else  could  he  know  that 
silence  was  so  kind?  To  the  snake-bitten  mare  he 
gave  outspoken  sympathy,  to  me  his  silence.  Jones 
and  I  were  his  patients,  and  both  of  us  trusted  him. 

He  had  found  me  out.  The  thing  I  had  intended 
was  a  crime,  and  conscience-stricken,  I  dreaded  lest 
he  should  speak.  I  could  not  bear  that.  Already  his 
camp  was  cleaned  and  in  order,  his  pipe  filled  and 
alight,  at  any  moment  he  might  break  the  restful 
silence.  That's  why  I  spoke,  and  at  random,  asking 
if  he  were  not  from  the  United  States. 

His  eyes  said  plainly,  "So  that's  the  game,  eh?" 
His  broad  smile  said,  "Well,  we'll  play."  He  sat 
down,  cross-legged.  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "I'm  an 
American  citizen,  except,"  he  added  softly,  "on  elec- 
tion days,  and  then,"  he  cocked  up  one  shrewd  eye, 
"I'm  sort  of  British.  Canadian?  No,  I  cayn't  claim 
that  either,  coming  from  the  Labrador,  for  that's 
Newf'nland,  a  day's  march  nearer  home. 

"Say,  Mrs.  Trevor,  you  don't  know  my  name  yet. 
It's  Smith,  and  with  my  friends  I'm  mostly  Jesse." 


82  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"If  you  please,  may  I  be  one  of  your  friends?" 

"If  I  behave  good,  you  may.  No  harm  in  my 
trying." 

From  behind  us  the  sun  flung  beams  of  golden 
splendor  and  blue  tree  shadows,  which  went  over  the 
rim-rock  into  the  misty  depths  of  the  abyss.  Down 
there  the  Eraser  roared.  Beyond  on  the  eastern  side 
soared  a  vast  precipice  of  gold  and  mauve  which  at 
an  infinite  height  above  our  heads  was  crested  with 
black  pines.  Level  with  our  bench  land  that  amaz- 
ing cliff  was  cut  transversely  by  a  shelf  of  delicate 
verdure,  with  here  and  there  black  groves  of  ma- 
jestic pines.  Nearly  opposite,  half  hidden  by  the 
trees,  perched  a  log  cabin,  in  form  and  in  its  ex- 
quisite proportion  like  some  old  Greek  temple. 

"And  that  is  where  you  live?" 

The  moment  Jesse  Smith  had  given  me  his  name, 
I  knew  him  well  by  reputation.  Comments  by  Surly 
Brown,  the  ferryman,  and  my  husband's  bitter 
hatred  had  outlined  a  dangerous  character.  Nobody 
else  lived  within  a  day's  journey. 

"That's  my  home,"  said  Jesse.  "D'ye  see  a  dim 
trail  jags  down  that  upper  cliff?  That's  whar  I 
drifted  my  ponies  down  when  I  came  in  from  the 
States.     I    didn't  know   of   the   wagon    road   from 


TWO    SHIPS    AT    ANCHOR  83 

Hundred  Mile  House  to  the  ferry,  which  runs  by  the 
north  end  of  my  ranch." 

"Your  house,"  I  said,  "always  reminds  me  of  an 
eagle's  aerie." 

"Wall,  it's  better'n  that.  Feed,  water,  shelter, 
timber,  and  squatter's  rights  is  good  enough  to  make 
a  poor  man's  ranch." 

"And  the  tremendous  grandeur  of  the  place?" 

"Hum.  I  don't  claim  to  have  been  knocked  all  in 
a  heap  with  the  scenery.  A  thousand-foot  wall  and 
a  hundred-foot  gulch  is  big  enough  for  dimples,  and 
saves  fencing.  But  if  you  left  this  district  in  one 
of  them  Arizona  caiions  over  night,  it  would  get 
mislaid. 

"No.  What  took  holt  of  me  good  and  hard  was 
the  company, — a  silved  tip  b'ar  and  his  missus,  both 
thousand  pounders,  with  their  three  young  ladies, 
now  mar'ied  and  settled  beyond  the  sky-line.  There's 
two  couples  of  prime  eagles  still  camps  along  thar 
by  South  Cave.  The  timber  wolf  I  trimmed  out  be- 
cause he  wasted  around  like  a  remittance  man.  Thar 
was  a  stallion  and  his  harem,  this  yere  fool  Jones 
bein'  one  of  his  young  mares.  El  Seiior  Don  Cou- 
gar and  his  senora  lived  here,  too,  until  they  went 
into  the  sheep   business   with   Surly    Brown's   new 


84  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

flock.  Besides  that,  there  was  heaps  of  HI'  friendly 
folks  in  fur,  hair,  and  feathers.  Yes,  I  have  been 
right  to  home  since  I  located." 

"But  grizzly  bears?    How  frightful!" 

"Yes.  They  was  frightened  at  first  The  coarse 
treatment  they  gets  from  hunters,  makes  them  sort 
of  bashful  with  any  stranger.  Ye  see,  b'ars  yearns  to 
man,  same  as  the  heathen  does  to  their  fool  gods, 
whereas  bullets,  pizen,  and  deadfalls  is  sort  of  dis- 
couraging. Their  sentiments  get  mixed,  they  acts 
confused,  and  naturally  if  they're  shot  at,  they'll  get 
hostile  same  as  you  and  me.  They  is  misunderstood, 
and  that's  how  nobody  has  a  kind  word  for  griz- 
zlies." 

"But  the  greatest  hunters  are  afraid  of  them." 

"The  biggest  criminals  has  got  most  scare  at  po- 
lice. B'ars  has  no  use  for  sportsmen,  nor  me 
neither.  My  rifle's  heaps  fiercer  than  any  b'ar,  and 
I've  chased  more  sportsmen  than  I  has  grizzlies." 

"Wasn't  Mr.  Trevor  one  of  them?" 

Jesse  grinned. 

"Tell  me,"  I  said,  for  the  other  side  of  the  story 
must  be  worth  hearing. 

"Wall,  Mr.  Trevor  took  out  a  summins  agin  me 
for  chasing  him  off'  my  ranch.     He  got  fined  for 


TWO    SHIPS    AT   ANCHOR  85 

having  no  gun  license,  and  no  dawg  license,  and  not 
paying  his  poll-tax,  and  Cap  Taylor  bound  him  over 
to  keep  the  peace.  I  ain't  popular  now  with  Mr. 
Trevor,  whereas  he  got  off  cheap.  Now,  if  them 
b'ars  could  shoot — " 

I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  "Can  they  be  tamed?" 
I  asked. 

"Men  can  be  gentled,  and  they  needs  taming  most. 
Thar  was  three  grizzlies  sort  of  adopted  a  party  by 
the  name  of  Capen  Adams,  and  camped  and  traveled 
with  him  most  familiar.  Once  them  four  vagrants 
promenaded  on  Market  Street  in  'Frisco.  Not 
that  I  holds  with  this  Adams  in  misleading  his 
b'ars  among  man-smell  so  strong  and  distrackful  to 
their  peace  of  mind.  But  still  I  reckon  Capen 
Adams  and  me  sort  of  takes  after  each  other.  I'm 
only  attractive  to  animals." 

"Oh,  surely !"  I  laughed. 

But  Jesse  became  quite  dismal.  "I'm  not  reck- 
oned," he  bemoaned  himself,  "among  the  popular 
attractions.  The  neighbors  shies  at  coming  near  my 
ranch." 

"Well,  if  you  protect  grizzlies  and  hunt  sports- 
men, surely  it's  not  surprising." 

"Can't  please  all  parties,  eh?  Wall,  perhaps  that's 


86  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

how  the  herd  is  grazing.  Yes.  Come  to  think  of 
it,  I  remember  oncet  a  Smithsonian  grave  robber 
comes  to  inspeck  South  Cave.  He  said  I'd  got  a 
boneyard  of  some  ancient  people,  and  he'd  rob 
graves  to  find  out  all  about  them  olden  times.  He 
wanted  to  catch  the  atmosphere  of  them  days,  so  I 
sort  of  helped.  Robbing  graves  ain't  exactly  a  holy 
vocation,  the  party  had  a  mean  eye,  a  German 
name,  and  a  sort  of  patronizing  manner,  but  still  I 
helped  around  to  get  him  atmosphere,  me  and  Eph." 

"Who's  Eph?" 

"Oh,  he's  just  a  silver-tip,  what  scientific  parties 
calls  ursus  horribilis  ord.  You  just  cast  your  eye 
whar  the  trickle  stream  falls  below  my  cabin.  D'ye 
see  them  sarvis  berry  bushes  down  below  the  spray  ?" 

"Where  the  bushes  are  waving?  Oh,  look,  there's 
a  gigantic  grizzly  standing  up,  and  pulling  the 
branches !" 

"Yes,  that's  Eph. 

"Wall,  as  I  was  tellin'  you,  Eph  and  me  is  help- 
ing this  scientific  person  to  get  the  atmosphere  of 
them  ancient  times." 

"But  the  poor  man  would  die  of  fright!" 

"Too  busy  running.   When  he  reached  Vancouver, 


TWO    SHIPS    AT    ANCHOR  87 

he  was  surely  a  cripple  though,  and  no  more  use  to 


science." 


"Crippled?" 

"Yes,  lost  his  truthfulness,  and  a  professor  with- 
out truth  is  like  a  woman  with  no  tongue,  plumb 
disabled.  His  talk  in  the  Vancouver  papers  beat 
Ananias,  besides  exciting  a  sort  of  prejudice.  The 
neighbors  shies  at  me,  and  I'm  no  more  popular. 
Shall  I  call  Eph?" 

"I  think  not  to-day,"  said  I,  hurriedly  rising,  "for 
indeed  I  should  be  getting  home  at  once." 

Without  ever  touching  the  wound,  he  had  given 
me  the  courage  to  live,  had  made  my  behavior  of 
the  morning  seem  that  of  a  silly  schoolgirl ;  but  still 
I  did  not  feel  quite  up  to  a  social  introduction.  I 
said  I  was  sure  that  Eph  and  I  would  have  no  in- 
terests in  common. 

"So  you'll  go  home  and  face  the  music?"  said 
Jesse's  wise  old  eyes. 

"My  husband,"  said  I,  "will  be  getting  quite 
anxious  about  me." 

Without  a  word  he  brought  my  horse  and  sad- 
dled him. 

And  I,  with  a  sinking  heart,  contrasted  the  loneU- 


88  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

ness  and  the  horror  which  was  called  my  "home" 
with  all  the  glamour  of  this  man*s  happy  solitude. 

While  Jesse  buckled  on  the  head-stall,  some  evil 
spirit  prompted  me  to  use  the  word  "romantic."  In 
swift  resentment  he  seized  and  rent  the  word. 

"Romantic?  Snakes!  Thar's  nothen  romantic 
about  me.  What  I  can't  earn  ain't  worth  stealing, 
and  I  most  surely  despise  all  shiftless  people." 

"Forgive  me.  I  did  not  mean  romantic  in  that 
sense." 

"Lady,  what  did  you  mean?" 

"May  I  say  picturesque?" 

He  spat.  "Thank  Gawd  I  ain't  that,  either.  I'd 
shoot  myself  if  I  thought  I  was  showing  off,  or  dress- 
ing operatic,  or  playing  at  bein'  more  than  I  am." 

Seeing  him  really  hurt,  I  made  one  last  wriggle. 

"May  I  say  what  I  mean  by  romance?" 

He  held  the  stirrup  for  me  to  mount,  offered  his 
hand. 

"Do  you  never  get  hungry,"  I  asked,  "for  what's 
beyond  the  horizon?" 

He  sighed  with  sheer  relief,  then  turned,  his  eyes 
seeing  infinite  distances.  "Why,  yes !  That  country 
beyond  the  sky-line's  always  calling.    Thar's  some- 


TWO    SHIPS    AT   ANCHOR  89 

thing  I  want  away  off,  and  I  don't  know  what  I 

want." 

"That  land  beyond  the  sky-line's  called  romance." 
He  clenched  his  teeth.    "What  does  a  ship  want 

when  she  strains  at  anchor?  What  she  wants  is  drift. 

And  I'm  at  anchor  because  I've  sworn  off  drift." 
At  that  we  parted,  and  I  went  slowly  homeward, 

up  to  my  anchor.    Dear  God !    If  I  might  drift ! 


N 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  TREVOR  ACCIDENT 

B. — Mr.  Smith,  while  living  alone,  had  a 
•  habit  of  writing  long  letters  to  his  mother. 
After  his  mother's  death  the  habit  continued,  but  as 
the  letters  could  not  be  sent  by  mail,  and  to  post  them 
in  the  stove  seemed  to  suggest  unpleasant  ideas, 
they  were  stowed  in  his  saddle  wallets. 

Dear  Mother  in  Heaven  : 

There's  been  good  money  in  this  here  packing  con- 
tract, and  the  wad  in  my  belt-pouch  has  been  grow- 
ing till  Doctor  McGee  suspecks  a  tumor.  He  thinks 
I'll  let  him  operate,  and  sure  enough  that  would  re- 
duce the  swelling. 

Once  a  week  I  take  my  little  pack  outfit  up  to  the 
Sky-line  claim  for  a  load  of  peacock  copper.  It  runs 
three  hundred  dollars  to  the  ton  in  horn  silver,  and 
looks  more  like  jewels  than  mineral.  Iron  Dale's 
cook,  Mrs.  Jubbin,  runs  to  more  species  of  pies  and 
cake  than  even  Hundred  Mile  House,  and  after  din- 

90 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  91 

ner  I  get  a  rim-fire  cigar  which  pops  like  a  cracker, 
while  I  sit  in  front  of  the  scenery  and  taste  the  breath 
of  the  snow  mountains.  Then  I  load  the  ponies,  col- 
lects Mick  out  of  the  cook  house,  which  he's  partial 
to  for  bones.  Iron  slings  me  the  mail-pouch,  and  I 
hits  the  trail.  I  aim  to  make  good  bush  grass  in  the 
yellow  pines  by  dusk,  and  the  second  day  brings  me 
down  to  Brown's  Ferry,  three  miles  short  of  my 
home.  From  the  ferry  there's  a  good  road  in  winter 
to  Hundred  Mile  House,  so  I  tote  the  cargoes  over 
there  by  sleigh.  There  my  contract  ends,  because 
Tearful  George  takes  on  with  his  string  team  down 
to  the  railroad.  I'd  have  that  contract,  too,  only 
Tearful  is  a  low-lived  sort  of  person,  which  can  feed 
for  a  dollar  a  week,  whereas  when  I  get  down  to  the 
railroad,  I'm  more  expensive. 

Did  }'ou  hear  tell  of  the  Cock  and  Bull  Ranch? 
Seeing  it's  run  by  a  missionary  you  may  have  the 
news  in  Heaven.  This  man  starts  a  stock  ranch  with 
a  bull  and  cow,  a  billy-goat  and  nanny-goat,  a 
rooster  and  hen  ;  but  it  happened  the  cow,  the  hen, 
and  the  nanny-goat  got  drowned  on  the  way  up- 
country  ;  and  ever  since  then  the  breeding  ain't  come 
up  to  early  expectations. 

Well,  it's  much  the  same  way  with  me  since  my 


92  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

stallion  William  died — of  trapezium,  I  think  the 
doctor  said.  The  mares  are  grinning  at  me  ever 
since,  and  it  will  take  nine  months  more  of  this  pack- 
ing contract  before  I  can  buy  another  stud  horse. 
Then  there's  the  mortgage,  and  the  graveyard  artist 
has  seized  your  tombstone  until  I  pay  for  repairing 
the  angel  on  top.    Life's  full  of  worries,  mother. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Jesse. 
Rain-storm  coming. 

P.  S. — It's  a  caution  to  see  how  Jones  steps  out  on 
the  home  trail.  Or'nary  as  a  muel  when  she  has  to 
climb,  she  hustles  like  a  little  running  horse  to  git 
back  down  to  bush  grass.  All  night  in  the  pines  I'll 
hear  her  bell  through  my  dreams,  while  she  and  her 
ponies  feed,  then  the  stopping  of  the  bell  wakes  me 
up,  for  them  horses  doze  off  from  when  the  Orion 
sets  until  its  cocklight  when  I  start  my  fire.  By  load- 
ing-time they've  got  such  grass  bellies  on  them  that  I 
has  to  be  quite  severe  with  the  lash  rope.  They  hold 
their  wind  while  I  cinch  them,  and  that's  how  their 
stomachs  get  kicked. 

Yes,  it's  a  good  life,  and  I  don't  envy  no  man. 
Still  it  made  me  sort  of  thoughtful  last  time  as  I 
swung  along  with  that  Jones  mare  snuggling  at  my 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  93 

wrist,  little  Mick  snapping  rear  heels  astern,  and  the 
sun  just  scorching  down  among  the  pines.  Women  is 
infrequent,  and  spite  of  all  my  experiences  with  the 
late  Mrs.  Smith — most  fortunate  deceased,  life  ain't 
all  complete  without  a  mate.  It  ain't  no  harm  to  any 
woman,  mother,  if  I  just  varies  off  my  trail  to  survey 
the  surrounding  stock. 

Mrs.  Jubbin  passes  herself  off  for  a  widow,  and  all 
the  boys  at  the  mine  take  notice  that  she  can  cook. 
Apart  from  that,  she's  homely  as  a  barb-wire  fence, 
and  Bubbly  Jock,  her  husband,  ain't  deceased  to  any 
great  extent,  being  due  to  finish  his  sentence  along  in 
October,  and  handy  besides  with  a  rifle. 

Then  of  the  three  young  ladies  at  Eighty  Mile, 
Sally  is  a  sound  proposition,  but  numerously  engaged 
to  the  stage  drivers  and  teamsters  along  the  Cariboo 
Road.  Miss  Wilth,  the  schoolma'am,  keeps  a  widow 
mother  with  tongue  and  teeth,  so  them  as  smells  the 
bait  is  ware  of  the  trap.  That's  why  Miss  Wilth 
stays  single.  The  other  girl  is  a  no-account  young 
person.  Not  that  I'm  the  sort  to  shy  at  a  woman  for 
squinting,  the  same  being  quite  persistent  with  sound 
morals,  but  I  hold  that  a  person  who  scratches  her- 
self at  meals  ain't  never  quite  the  lady.  She  should 
do  It  private. 


94  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

There's  the  Widow  O'Flynn  on  the  trail  to  Hun- 
dred Mile, — she's  harsh,  with  a  wooden  limb.  Be- 
sides she  wants  to  talk  old  times  in  Abilene.    I  don't. 

As  to  the  married  women,  I  reckon  that  tribe  is 
best  left  alone,  with  respects.  If  you  sees  me  agin,  it 
will  be  in  Heaven,  and  I  don't  aim  to  disappoint  you 
by  turning  up  at  the  other  place.  I'd  get  religion, 
mother,  but  for  the  sort  of  swine  I  seen  converted, 
but  even  for  the  sake  of  finding  grace  I  ain't  going 
to  graze  with  them  cattle. 

While  I've  mostly  kep'  away  from  the  married 
ladies,  and  said  "deliver  us  from  temptation"  regular 
every  night,  there  was  no  harm  as  I  came  along 
down,  in  being  sorry  for  Mrs.  Trevor.  Women  are 
reckoned  mighty  cute  at  reading  men,  but  I've  no- 
ticed when  I've  struck  the  complete  polecat,  that  he's 
usually  married.  So  long  as  a  woman  keeps  her  head 
she's  wiser  than  a  man,  but  when  she  gets  rattled 
she's  a  sure  fool.  She'll  keep  her  head  with  the  com- 
mon run  of  men,  but  when  she  strikes  the  all-round 
stinker,  like  a  horse  runs  into  a  fire,  she  ups  and  mar- 
ries him.     Anyway,  Mrs.  Trevor  had  got  there. 

Said  to  be  Tuesday. 

Trip  before  last  was  the  first  time  I  seen  this  lady. 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  95 

The  trail  from  Trevor's  meets  in  with  the  track  from 
Sky-line  just  at  the  Soda  Spring-.  From  there  a  sure- 
enough  wagon  road  snakes  down  over  the  edge  of 
the  bench  and  curves  away  north  to  Brown's  Ferry. 
At  the  spring  you  get  the  sound  of  the  rapids,  you 
catch  the  smell  of  the  river  like  a  wet  knife,  you  looks 
straight  down  into  white  water,  and  on  the  opposite 
bench  is  my  ranch. 

Happens  Jones  reckoned  she'd  been  appointed  in- 
spector of  snakes,  so  I'd  had  to  lay  off  at  the  spring, 
and  Mrs.  Trevor  comes  along  to  get  shut  of  her 
trouble.  She's  hungry ;  she  ain't  had  anything  but 
her  prize  hawg  to  speak  to  for  weeks,  and  she's  as 
curious  as  Mother  Eve,  anyway.  Curiosity  in  ante- 
lopes and  women  projuces  venison  and  marriages, 
both  species  being  too  swift  and  shy  to  be  met  up 
with  otherwise. 

She's  got  allusions,  too,  seeing  things  as  large  as 
a  sceart  horse,  so  she's  all  out  of  focus,  supposin'  me 
to  be  romantic  and  picturesk,  wharas  I'm  a  working- 
man  out  earning  dollars.  Still  it's  kind  in  any  lady 
to  take  an  interest,  and  I  done  what  you  said  in  aim- 
ing at  the  truth,  no  matter  what  I  hits. 

Surely  my  meat's  transparent  by  the  way  her  voice 
struck  through  among  my  bones.     If  angels  speak 


96  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

like  that  I'd  die  to  hear.  She  told  me  nothin',  not 
one  word  about  the  trouble  that's  killing  her,  but 
her  voice  made  me  want  to  cry.  If  you'd  spoke  like 
that  when  I  was  your  puppy,  you'd  a  had  no  need 
of  that  old  slipper,  mother. 

'Cause  I  couldn't  tear  him  away  from  the  beef 
bones,  I'd  left  Mick  up  at  the  Sky-line,  or  I'd  ast  that 
lady  to  accept  my  dog.  You  see,  he'd  bite  Trevor  all- 
right,  wharas  I  has  to  diet  myself,  and  my  menu  is 
sort  of  complete.  Still  by  the  time  she  stayed  in  camp, 
my  talk  may  have  done  some  comfort  to  that  poor 
woman.  She  didn't  know  then  that  her  trouble  was 
only  goin'  to  last  another  week. 

This  is  pie  day.  I  comes  now  to  describing  my 
last  trip  down  from  the  Sky-line,  when  I  hustled  the 
ponies  just  In  case  Mrs.  Trevor  might  be  taking  her 
cultus  cooly  along  toward  Soda  Spring.  Of  course 
she  wasn't  there. 

You'd  have  laughed  if  you'd  seen  Jones  after  she 
drank  her  fill  of  water  out  of  the  bubbly  spring, 
crowded  with  soda  bubbles.  She  just  goes  hie,  tittup, 
hie,  down  the  trail,  changing  step  as  the  hiccups  jolt- 
ed her  poor  old  ribs.  The  mare  looked  so  blamed 
funny  that  at  first  I  didn't  notice  the  tracks  along  the 
road. 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  97 

To  judge  by  the  hind  shoes,  Mrs.  Trevor's  mean 
colt  had  gone  down  toward  the  river  not  more'n  ten 
minutes  ago,  on  the  dead  run,  then  back  up  the  road 
at  a  racking  out-of-breath  trot.  Something  must 
have  gone  wrong,  and  sure  enough  as  I  neared  a 
point  of  rocks  which  hid  the  trail  ahead,  Jones  sud- 
denly shied  hard  in  the  midst  of  a  hiccup.  There 
was  the  Widow  Bear's  track  right  across  the  road, 
and  Mick  had  to  yell  blue  blazes  to  get  the  other 
ponies  past  the  smell.  Ahead  of  me  the  tracks  of  the 
Trevor  colt  were  dancing  the  width  of  the  road, 
bucking  good  and  hard  at  the  stink  of  bear.  Then  I 
rounded  the  point  of  rocks. 

There  lay  Mrs.  Trevor  all  in  a  heap.  The  after- 
noon sun  caught  her  hair,  which  flamed  gold,  and  a 
green  humming-bird  whirred  round  as  though  it 
were  some  big  flower.  Since  Jones  would  have  shied 
over  the  tree-tops  at  a  corpse  or  a  whiff  of  blood,  I 
knew  she'd  only  fainted,  but  felt  at  her  breast  to 
make  sure.  I  tell  you  it  felt  like  an  outrage  to  lay 
my  paw  on  a  sleeping  lady,  and  still  worse  I'd  only 
my  dirty  old  hat  to  carry  water  from  a  seepage  in 
the  cliff.  My  heart  thumped  when  I  knelt  to  sprinkle 
the  water,  and  when  that  blamed  humming-bird 
came  whirring  past  my  ear,  I  jumped  as  though  the 


98  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

devil  had  got  me,  splashing  the  hatful  over  Mrs, 
Trevor.  At  that  her  eyes  opened,  staring  straight 
at  my  face,  but  she  made  out  a  sort  of  smile  when 
she  saw  it  was  only  me. 

"Jesse!" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Seen  my  husband?" 

"No,  ma'am," 

"I  don't  know  what's  come  over  him,"  she  moaned, 
clenching  her  teeth;  "he  fired  at  me." 

"That  gun  I  traded  to  him?" 

"Four  shots." 

"You  was  running  away  when  your  colt  shied  at 
the  bear?" 

"My  ankle!    Jesse,  it  hurts  so  dreadfully.    Yes 
the  left." 

My  knife  ripped  her  riding-boot  clear.  The  old 
red  bandana  from  my  neck  made  her  a  wet  bandage, 
and  the  boot  top  served  for  a  splint.  There  was  no 
call  to  tell  her  the  foot  was  broken,  and  the  fainting 
fits  eased  my  job.  Between  whiles  she  would  tell  me 
to  hurry,  knowing  that  the  return  of  that  damned 
colt  would  show  Trevor  which  way  she'd  run.  I 
had  no  weapon,  so  if  Trevor  happened  along  with 
the  .45  revolver  it  wouldn't  be  healthy. 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  99 

I  couldn't  leave  the  loads  of  ore  on  my  ponies,  and 
if  I  got  Mrs.  Trevor  mounted  with  her  foot  hanging 
down,  she'd  lose  time  swooning.     So  I  unloaded  all 
the  ponies  except  Jones,  and  turned  them  loose,  keep- 
ing Jones  and  Swift,  who  has  a  big  heart  for  travel. 
Next  I  filled  one  of  the  rawhide  panniers  with  brush, 
and  lashed  it  across  Jones'  neck  for  a  back  rest.     A 
wad  of  pine  brush  made  a  seat  between  Jones'  pan- 
niers where  I  mostly  carry  my  grub.     Hoisting  Mrs. 
Trevor  on  to  the  mare's  back  was  a  pretty  mean  job, 
but  worst  of  all  I  had  to  lash  her  down.     Taking  my 
thirty-eight-foot   rope   I   threw  a  single-hand   dia- 
mond, hitching  the  lady  good  and  hard  to  mare  and 
cargo.     Her   head   and   shoulders   was   over  Jones' 
neck,  her  limbs  stretched  out  above  his  rump,  where 
I  had  made  them  fast  with  a  sling  rope.    I've  packed 
mining  machinery,  wheels,  and  once  a  piano,  but  I 
never  heard  tell  of  any  one  packing  a  lady.     For 
chafing  gear  to  keep  the  ropes  from  scorching,  I  had 
tc  use  my  coat,  shirt,  and  undershirt,  so  that  when  I 
mounted  Swift  to  lead  off,  I'd  only  boots  and  over- 
alls, and  Mrs.  Trevor  could  see  I  was  blushing  down 
to  m>  belt.   Shocked?   Nothing!   Great  ladies  doesn't 
shock  jvke  common  people.    No,  in  spite  of  the  pain- 
backing  and  the  fear-haunting,  she  laughed,  and  it 


loo  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

done  me  good.  She  said  I  looked  like  Mr.  Polio  Bel- 
videary,  a  dago  she'd  met  up  with  in  Italy.  Dagos 
are  swine,  but  the  way  she  spoke  made  me  proud. 

Jones  leads  good,  which  was  well  for  me  riding 
bareback,  for  Vv'e  didn't  stop  to  pick  flowers. 

Washing  day  after  supper. 

We  weren't  more  than  half-way  down  to  the  river 
when  we  heard  Trevor  surging  and  yelling  astern, 
somewheres  up  on  the  bench.  At  that  I  broke  to  a 
trot,  telling  the  lady  to  let  out  a  howl  the  moment  it 
hurt  beyond  bearing.  I  wonder  what  amount  of 
pain  is  beyond  the  bearing  of  real  thoroughbreds? 
That  lady  would  burn  before  she'd  even  whimper. 

Nearing  the  ferry  my  innards  went  sick,  for  the 
punt  was  on  the  far  bank,  the  man  was  out  of  sight, 
and  even  Jones  wouldn't  propose  to  swim  the  river 
with  a  cargo  of  mineral  and  a  deck  load.  As  we  got 
to  the  door  of  Brown's  cabin,  Trevor  hove  in  sight. 

Now,  supposing  you're  poor  in  the  matter  of  time, 
with,  say,  half  a  minute  to  invest  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, you  try  to  lay  out  your  thirty  seconds  where 
they  will  do  most  good.  I  lep'  to  the  ground,  giving 
Jones  a  hearty  slap  on  the  off  quarter,  which  would 
steer  her  behind  Brown's  cabin;  then  with  one  jump 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  loi 

I  grabbed  old  man  Brown's  Winchester  rifle  from 
its  slings  above  the  hearth,  shoved  home  two  cart- 
ridges from  the  mantel,  rammed  the  muzzle  through 
the  window-pane,  which  commands  a  view  up  the 
trail,  and  proceeded  to  take  stock  of  Mr.  Trevor. 

The  man's  eyes  being  stark  staring  mad,  it  was  a 
sure  fact  he'd  never  listen  to  argument.  If  I  shot 
him,  the  horse  would  surge  on,  dropping  the  corpse 
at  Mrs.  Trevor's  feet,  which  would  be  too  sudden  to 
please.  If  I  stopped  the  horse  at  full  gallop,  the 
rider  would  go  on  till  he  hit  the  scenery,  and  after 
that  he  wouldn't  feel  well  enough  to  be  injurious. 
That's  why  I  waited,  following  with  the  rifle  until 
the  horse's  shoulder  widened  out,  giving  me  a  clear 
aim  at  the  heart. 

The  horse  finished  his  stride,  but  while  I  was  run- 
ning to  the  door,  he  crumpled  and  went  down  dead, 
the  carcass  sliding  three  yards  before  it  stopped.  As 
to  the  man,  he  shot  a  long  curve  down  on  his  back  in 
a  splash  of  dust,  which  looked  like  a  brown  explo- 
sion. Hi^-revolver  went  further  on  whirling,  until  a 
stump  touched  off  the  trigger,  and  its  bullet  whined 
over  my  head. 

Next  thing  I  heard  was  the  rapids,  like  a  church 
organ  fini.shing  a  hymn,  and  Mrs.  Trevor's  call. 


102  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"You've  killed  him?" 

"No,  ma'am,  but  he's  had  an  accident.  I'll  take 
him  to  the  cabin  for  first  aid." 

Trevor  was  sitting  up  by  the  time  I  reached  him. 
He  looked  sort  of  sick. 

"Get  up,"  said  I,  remembering  to  be  polite  in  the 
presence  of  a  lady.     "Get  up,  you  cherub." 

Instead  of  rising,  he  reached  out  a  flask  from  his 
pocket,  and  uncorked  to  take  a  little  nourishment.  I 
flicked  the  bottle  into  the  river,  and  assisted  him  to 
rise  vi'ith  my  foot.  "My  poor  erring  brother,"  said  I, 
"please  step  this  way,  or  I'll  kick  your  tail  through 
your  hat." 

He  said  he  wasn't  feeling  very  well,  so  when  I  got 
him  into  the  cabin,  I  let  him  lie  on  Brown's  bed, 
lashing  him  down  good  and  hard.  I  gave  him  a  stick 
to  bite  instead  of  my  fingers,  which  is  private. 
"Now,"  said  I,  "your  name  is  Polecat.  You're  due 
to  rest  right  there,  Mr.  Polecat,  until  I  get  the  pro- 
vincial constable."  I  gathered  from  his  expression 
that  he'd  sort  of  taken  a  dislike  to  me. 

Swift  and  the  mare  were  grazing  on  pine  chips 
beside  the  cabin,  and  Mrs.  Trevor  looked  wonder- 
fully peaceful. 

"Your  husband,"  said  I,  "is  resting." 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  103 

She  gave  me  a  wry  laugh,  and  seeing  she  was  in 
pain,  I  poured  water  over  her  foot. 

"That's  better,"  said  she,  "how  good  you  are  to 
me!" 

Old  man  Brown  was  coming  across  with  the  punt, 
mighty  peevish  because  I'd  dropped  a  horse  carcass 
to  rot  at  his  cabin  door,  and  still  worse  when  he  seen 
I  had  a  lunatic  roped  in  his  bunk.  Moreover,  he 
wasn't  broke  to  seeing  ladies  used  f o  *  cargo  on  pack- 
animals,  or  me  naked  to  the  belt,  ?  id  making  free 
with  his  rifle.  I  give  him  his  Winchester,  which  he 
set  down  by  his  door,  also  a  dollar  bill,  but  he  was 
still  crowded  full  of  peevishness,  wasting  the  lady's 
time.  At  last  I  hustled  the  ponies  aboard  the  punt, 
and  set  the  guide  lines  so  that  we  started  out  along 
the  cable,  leaving  the  old  man  to  come  or  stay  as  he 
pleased.  He  came.  Fact  is,  I  remembered  that  while 
I  took  Mrs.  Trevor  to  my  home,  I'd  need  a  messen- 
ger to  ride  for  doctor,  nurse,  groceries,  and  consta- 
ble. I'm  afraid  old  man  Brown  was  torn  some, 
catching  on  a  nail  while  I  lifted  him  into  the  punt. 
His  language  was  plentiful. 

Now  I  thought  I'd  arranged  Mrs.  Trevor  and  Mr. 
Trevor  and  Mr.  Brown,  and  added  up  the  sum  so 
that  old  Geometry  himself  couldn't  have  figured  it 


104  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

better.  Whereas  I'd  left  out  the  fact  that  Brown's 
bunk  was  nailed  careless  to  the  wall  of  his  cabin.  As 
Trevor  struggled,  the  pegs  came  adrift,  the  bed  cap- 
sized, the  rope  slacked,  and  the  polecat,  breaking 
loose,  found  Brown's  rifle.  I'd  led  the  ponies  out  of 
the  punt,  and  was  instructing  Brown,  when  the  pole- 
cat let  drive  at  me  from  across  the  river.  With  all 
his  faults  he  could  shoot  good,  for  his  first  grazed  my 
scalp,  half  blin  ing  me.  At  that  the  lady  attracted 
attention  by  sci.  naming,  so  the  third  shot  stampeded 
poor  Jones. 

I  ain't  religious,  being  only  thirty,  and  not  due  to 
reform  this  side  of  rheumatism,  but  all  the  sins  I've 
enjoyed  was  punished  sudden  and  complete  in  that 
one  minute.  Blind  with  blood,  half  stunned,  and 
reeling  sick,  I  heard  the  mare  as  she  plunged  along 
the  bank  dispensing  boulders.  No  top-heavy  cargo 
was  going  to  stand  that  strain  without  coming  over, 
so  the  woman  I  loved — yes,  I  knew  that  now  for  a 
fact— was  going  to  be  dragged  until  her  brains  vjf  :e 
kicked  out  by  the  mare.  It  seemed  to  me  ages  be- 
fore I  could  rouse  my  senses,  wipe  my  eyes,  and 
mount  the  gelding.  When  sight  and  sense  came  back, 
I  was  riding  as  I  had  never  dared  to  ride  in  all  my 
life,  galloped  Mr.  Swift  on  rolling  boulders  steep  as 


THE    TREVOR    ACCIDENT  105 

?.  roof,  and  all  a-sllther.  I  got  Swift  sidewise  up 
the  bank  to  grass,  raced  past  the  mare,  then  threw 
Swift  in  front  of  Jones.  Down  went  the  mare  just  as 
her  load  capsized,  so  that  she  and  the  lady,  Swift 
and  I,  were  all  mixed  up  in  a  heap. 

My  little  dog  Mick  was  licking  my  scalp  when  I 
woke,  and  it  seemed  to  me  at  first  that  something 
must  have  gone  wrong.  My  head  was  between  two 
boulders,  with  the  mare's  shoulder  pressing  my  nose, 
my  legs  were  under  water,  and  somewhere  close 
around  was  roaring  rapids.  Swift  was  scrambling 
for  a  foothold,  and  Mrs.  Trevor  shouting  for  all  she 
was  worth,  I  waited  till  Swift  cleared  out,  and  the 
lady  quit  for  breath. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  say  you're  not  dead,  Jesse!" 

"Only  in  parts,"  said  I,  "and  how  are  you?" 

"I'm  cutting  the  ropes,  but  oh,  this  knife's  so 
blunt!" 

"Don't  spoil  your  knife.  Will  you  do  what  I  say?" 

"Of  course  I  will." 

"Reach  out  then  on  the  off  side  of  the  load.  The 
end  of  that  lashing's  fast  to  the  after-basket  line." 

When  I'd  explained  that  two  or  three  times,  "I 
have  it,"  she  answered.    "Loose!" 


io6  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Pull  on  the  fore  line  of  the  diamond." 

"Right.     Oh,  Jesse,  I'm  free!" 

"Kneel  on  the  mare's  head,  reach  under  the  pan- 
nier, find  the  latego,  and  cast  off." 

She  fumbled  a  while,  and  then  reported  all  clear. 

"Get  off  the  mare." 

In  another  moment  Jones  was  standing  up  to 
shake  herself,  knee  deep  in  the  river,  and  with  a  slap 
I  sent  her  off  to  join  Swift  at  the  top  of  the  bank. 
Mrs.  Trevor  was  sitting  on  a  boulder,  staring  out 
over  the  rapids,  her  eyes  set  on  something  coming 
down  mid-stream.  Her  face  was  all  gray,  and  she 
clutched  my  hand,  holding  like  grim  death.  As  for 
me,  I'd  never  reckoned  that  even  a  madman  would 
try  to  swim  the  Eraser  in  clothes  and  boots. 

"I  can't  bear  it!"  she  cried,  turning  her  face  away. 
"Tell  me—" 

"I  guess,"  said  I,  feeling  mighty  grave,  "you're 
due  to  become  a  widow." 

The  rapids  got  Trevor,  and  I  watched. 

"You  are  a  widow,"  says  I,  at  last. 

She  fainted. 

There,  I'm  dead  sick  of  writing  this  letter,  and  my 
wrist  is  all  toothache.  Jesse. 


CHAPTER  III 

LOVE 

Kate's  Narrative 

JESSE  argues  that  there's  nothing  to  boast  of  in 
the  way  he  saved  me.  Horse  and  rifle  are  like 
feet  to  run  with,  hands  to  fight  with,  part  of  his  life. 
"Now,  if  I'd  rode  a  giraffe  and  harpooned  you,  I'd 
have  my  name  in  all  the  papers.  Shucks !  Skill  and 
courage  are  things  to  shame  the  man  who  hasn't  got 
them." 

I  married  Lionel  Trevor  in  the  days  when  he 
looked  like  a  god  as  Parsifal,  sang  like  an  angel,  had 
Europe  at  his  feet.  "Something  wrong  with 
Europe,"  is  Jesse's  comment.  "West  of  the  Rockies 
we  don't  use  such,  except  to  sell  their  skins." 

When  Lionel  lost  his  voice — more  to  him  than  are 
horse  and  gun  to  Jesse — he  would  not  ask  me  to  fol- 
low him  into  the  wilderness  but  tried  to  persuade  me 
to  stay  on  in  London.  I  was  singing  "Eurydice"  in 
Orjeo,  my  feet,  thanks  to  Lionel,  were  at  last  on 

107 


io8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

the  great  ladder,  and  if  I  was  ambitious,  who  shall 
blame  me?  Yet  for  better,  for  worse,  we  were  mar- 
ried, and  here  among  the  pines,  in  this  celestial  air, 
a  year  or  two  at  the  most  would  give  him  back  his 
voice.  My  place  was  at  his  side,  for  better  or  worse, 
and  when  he  drank,  when  day  by  day  I  watched  the 
light  of  reason  give  place  in  his  eyes  to  bestial  vice, 
until  at  last  I  found  myself  chained  to  a  maniac — till 
death  us  do  part — it  was  then  I  first  saw  Jesse,  the 
one  man  whose  eyes  showed  understanding. 

I  can't  write  about  that  day  when  Lionel,  a  thing 
possessed  of  devils,  hunted  me  through  the  woods 
like  a  bear.  It  wasn't  fair.  I'm  only  twenty-eight 
years  old.  It  wasn't  fair  that  I  should  be  treated 
like  that.  I  doubt  if  I  remember  all  that  happened. 
I  must  have  been  crazed  with  pain  and  fear  until 
suddenly  I  woke  up  on  a  boulder  by  that  awful 
river,  and  saw  him  drift  past  me,  caught  in  the 
rapids,  drowning.  I  would  have  shouted  I  was  so 
glad,  until  he  saw  me,  and  dying  as  he  was,  looked 
at  me  with  Lionel's  clear  sane  eyes. 

I  fainted,  and  when  I  awoke  again  in  the  dusk, 
Jesse  bent  over  me,  not  as  he  Is,  the  rugged  fighting 
frontiersman,  but  dressed  in  white,  wearing  a  wreath 
of  beaten  gold  leaves,  the  laurel  crown.     He  was  a 


LOVE  109 

Greek  warrior,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I,  too,  wore 
the  Grecian  dress,  a  milk-white  peplum.  We  were 
walking  side  by  side  along  a  beach  between  the  cliffs 
and  the  sea.  He  stopped,  looking  seaward,  his 
bronzed  face  set  with  an  anxiety,  which  as  he 
watched,  became  fear.  He  clasped  me  in  his  arms, 
and  then  I  saw  that  out  of  the  distance  of  the  sea, 
came  a  wave,  rushing  straight  at  us,  a  monstrous 
tidal  wave  with  curved  and  glassy  front,  crowned 
with  a  creaming  surf  of  high-flung  diamond.  The 
cliff  barred  all  escape,  and  we  stood  waiting,  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  commending  our  spirits  to  the 
gods — 

My  eyes  broke  through  the  vision,  for  Jesse,  the 
real  Jesse  of  this  present  life,  shook  me,  imploring 
me  to  rouse  myself.  He  says  I  woke  up  shouting 
"Zeus !  Zeus  !"  He  lifted  me  in  his  arms  and  carried 
me. 

Of  course  I  was  hysterical,  being  overwrought, 
and  the  very  thought  is  nonsense  that  in  some  past 
life  thousands  of  years  ago,  Jesse  and  I  were  lovers. 
That  night  and  for  three  weeks  afterward,  I  lay 
delirious.  At  the  ferryman's  cabin  he  made  me  a 
bed  of  pine  boughs,  until  my  household  stuff  and  the 
Chinese  servant  could  be  brought  down   from  the 


no  A    MAN    IN    TrIE    OPEN 

ranch.  He  sent  Surly  Brown  to  bring  Doctor  McGee, 
and  the  Widow  O'Flynn  as  my  nurse,  while  her  son 
Billy  was  hired  to  do  his  pack-train  work.  From 
that  time  onward  the  pack  outfit  carried  cargoes  of 
ore  from  the  mine,  and  loads  from  Hundred  Mile 
House  of  every  comfort  and  luxury  which  money 
could  buy  for  me.  Jesse  bought  tents,  which  he  set 
up  beside  the  cabin,  one  for  my  servant,  the  other 
for  Brown  and  himself,  besides  such  travelers  as 
from  time  to  time  stayed  over  night  at  the  ferry. 
When  I  got  well,  I  found  that  Jesse  had  spent  the 
savings  of  years,  and  had  not  a  dollar  left. 

The  widow  nursed  me  by  day,  Jesse  by  night, 
and  after  one  attempt  by  Mrs.  O'Flynn,  it  was  he 
who  dressed  my  foot.  In  his  hands  he  had  the  deli- 
cate strength  of  a  trained  surgeon,  but  also  some- 
thing  more,  that  sympathetic  touch  which  charms 
away  pain,  bringing  ease  to  the  mind  as  well  as  to 
the  body.  "  'Tisn't,"  said  he,  "as  if  you  kicked  me 
out  of  the  stable  every  time  I  laid  a  hand  on  yo' 
pastern.  That  Jones,  when  she  hurt  her  foot,  just 
kicked  me  black  and  blue." 

When  at  last  I  crept  out  of  doors  to  bask  in  the 
autumn  sunlight,  the  cotton  woods  and  aspens  were 
changed  to  lemon,  the  sumac  to  crimson,  the  fallen 


LOVE  III 

needles  of  the  pines  clothed  the  slopes  with  orange, 
and  a  mist  of  milky  blue  lay  in  the  canon.  Very 
beautiful  were  those  days,  when  no  breath  of  wind 
stirred  the  warm  perfume,  and  the  music  of  the 
rapids  echoed  from  sun-warmed  precipice  and  glow- 
ing woodlands  up  to  the  gorgeous  cobalt  of  the  sky. 
Cured  of  all  sick  fancies,  I  was  content  to  rest. 

Jesse  had  arranged  with  lawyers  for  the  probate 
of  Lionel's  will,  and  settlement  of  his  debts,  which 
would  leave  me  nothing.  As  far  as  Jesse  knew,  I 
was  penniless,  and  to  this  day  I  have  never  dared 
acknowledge  that,  secured  from  the  extravagance 
of  my  late  husband,  I  have  capital  bringing  in  some 
seven  thousand,  five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Jesse 
supposed  me  to  be  destitute,  and  when  I  spoke  of  re- 
turning to  my  work  in  Europe,  offered  to  raise  the 
money  for  my  passage.  Knowing  his  ranch  to  be 
mortgaged  already  to  its  full  value,  I  wondered  what 
limit  there  was  to  this  poor  man's  valor.  Yes,  I 
would  accept,  assuring  him  of  swift  repayment,  yet 
dared  not  tell  him  the  wages  offered  me  at  Covent 
Garden.  It  seemed  indecent  that  a  woman's  voice 
should  be  valued  at  more  per  week  than  his  heroic 
earnings  for  a  year. 

I  sang  to  him,  simple  emotional  music:     Orfeo's 


112  A    MAN    TN    THE    OPEN 

lament,  tlic  finale  of  //  Trovatore,  the  angel  song 
from  Chopin's  Marclic  Funchre. 

There  was  the  last  of  my  poor  little  test  which 
had  proved  in  him  a  chivalry,  a  generosity,  a  moral 
valor,  a  physical  courage,  a  sense  of  beauty,  a  na- 
tive humor,  which  made  me  very  humble.  All  I  had 
foolishly  imagined  in  poor  Lionel,  all  that  a  woman 
hopes  for  in  a  man,  was  here  beyond  the  accidents 
of  rank  or  caste.  How  pitiful  seemed  the  standards 
of  value  which  rated  Lionel  a  gentleman,  and  this 
man  common!  Jesse  is  something  by  nature  which 
gentlemen  try  to  imitate  with  their  culture.  Should 
I  go  back  to  imitations  ?  I  had  outlived  all  that  be- 
fore I  realized  the  glory  of  the  great  wilderness,  be- 
fore I  met  Jesse  and  loved  him. 

Could  I  promise  to  love,  honor  and  obey?  I  loved 
him,  I  honored  him,  and  as  to  obeying,  of  course 
that's  the  way  they  are  managed. 

I  wonder  why  women  make  it  so  important  that  a 
man  should  propose?  It  needed  no  telling  that  Jesse 
and  I  were  in  love.  It  seemed  only  natural  that  we 
should  marry,  and  any  pretense  of  mourning  for  the 
late  Mr.  Trevor  would  have  been  distasteful. 

My  dear  father  was  content  with  my  first  mar- 
riage, because — it  seems  so  quaint — Mr.  Trevor  was 


LOVE  113 

a  sound  churchman.  The  old  saint  had  indeed  one 
misgiving,  for  Lionel  was  very  high  church,  and  if 
he  reverted  to  Rome,  the  religious  education  of  any 
children — my  father  has  found  peace  in  a  land 
where  there  are  no  doctrinal  worries.  But  for  his 
daughter  he  would  pray  still,  lest  she  be  yoked  with 
an  unbeliever.  For  my  father's  sake  I  asked  Jesse 
about  his  religious  convictions. 

"Wall,"  he  explained,  "my  old  mother  was  a 
Hard-Shell  Baptist,  and  father  was  Prohibition,  so  if 
them  two  forms  of  ignorance  came  to  be  used  around 
here,  I'd  be  a  sort  of  mongrel." 

"Surely  you  don't  think  the  churches  mere  forms 
of  ignorance?" 

"Ignorance,"  he  took  the  word  up  thoughtfully. 
"It's  a  thing  I  practises,  and  am  apt  to  recognize  by 
the  way  it  acks.  It  ain't  so  scarce  in  them  churches 
as  you'd  think.  P.Iaybe,  knowin'  more  than  me,  you 
can  tell  me  about  that  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Was 
it  a  Catholic  Mount,  or  Baptist,  or  Episcopalian?" 
"Surely  a  hill,  or  mountain." 

"And  Jesus  took  his  people  away  from  the  smell 
of  denominations — Scribes,  Pharisees,  and  such,  to 
some  place  outdoors?" 

The  idea  struck  me  full  in  the  face  like  a  sudden 


114  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

lash  of  spray,  but  before  I  could  clear  my  eyes,  the 
man  had  followed  his  thought  to  a  weird  conclusion, 

"The  more  they  build  churches  and  chapels  to 
corral  Him,  the  more  He  takes  to  the  woods.  I  sort 
of  follow." 

This  only  left  me  to  wonder  what  my  dear  old 
white  saint  would  have  said. 

Certainly  he  could  never  have  accepted  that  Amer- 
ican citizenship,  and  Jesse's  nationality  is  vague. 
"Thar's  God,"  he  would  say  quite  reverently,  "and 
Mother  England,  and  Uncle  Sam,  but  beyond  that  I 
ain't  much  acquainted.  The  rest  seems  to  be  sort  of 
foreigners.  The  Labrador?  Oh,  that's  just  trim- 
mings." 

Whatever  he  is,  I  love  him, — primitive,  elemental, 
kin  of  the  woodland  gods,  habitant  of  the  white 
sierras,  the  august  forest,  and  the  sweet  wild  pas- 
tures. My  doubts  fluttered  aw^ay  from  the  main 
issue  to  settle  down  on  very  twigs  of  detail.  I  had 
not  courage  to  imagine  what  a  fright  he  would  look 
in  civilized  clothes,  how  awkward  he  would  feel 
among  folk  and  houses,  or  how  such  dear  illusions 
would  be  shattered  if  ever  my  cynical  relations  saw 
him  eat.  He  is  a  Baptist,  and  by  his  convictions  lia- 
ble to  wed  in  store  clothes,  with  a  necktie  like  a  boot- 


LOVE  115 

lace,  and  number  twelve  kid  gloves,  taking  his 
honeymoon  as  a  solemnity  at  the  very  loudest  hotel 
in  San  Francisco.  Preferring  plague,  pestilence, 
famine,  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,  to  such 
festivities,  I  pleaded  our  poverty,  and  dire  need  of 
keeping  free  from  debt.  Although  born  in  the  Lab- 
rador, he  had  been  a  cow-boy  in  Texas  for  half  his 
working  life.  As  a  stockman,  he  was  to  wed  a  ranch- 
er's widow.  Was  he  ashamed  of  his  business  ?  No, 
proud  as  Lucifer!  Was  he  ashamed  of  the  dress  of 
his  trade?  Not  by  a  damned  sight!  Soldiers  and 
sailors  are  proud  to  wear  the  dress  of  their  trade 
when  they  marry.  "So  are  cow-punchers,"  said  he, 
with  his  head  in  the  air.  "S'pose  we  ride  to  Cariboo 
City,  and  get  married  in  that  little  old  log  church." 

He  managed  to  persuade  me;  and  I  consented  also 
to  a  hunting  trip,  instead  of  the  usual  honeymoon. 

When  I  was  well  enough  for  the  journey,  I  rode 
my  colt,  and  Jesse  his  demon  mare — Jones — my  sole 
rival,  I  think,  except  that  dreadful  bear,  in  his  af- 
fections. Two  pack-ponies  carried  our  camp  and 
baggage,  and  each  night  he  would  set  up  a  little  tent 
for  me,  bedding  himself  down  beside  the  fire.  At 
the  end  of  five  days'  journey,  we  rode  at  dusk  into 
Cariboo. 


ii6  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Captain  Taylor,  of  Hundred  Mile  House,  and 
Pete  Mathson,  the  cargador  of  the  Star  Pack-train, 
two  old  stanch  friends  of  Jesse,  witnessed  our  mar- 
riage in  the  quaint  log  building  which  served  the 
Cariboo  miners  as  church  and  schoolhouse.  The 
Reverend  Cyril  Redfern,  pioneer  and  missionary, 
read  the  service,  while  our  ponies  waited  just  outside 
the  door.  Jesse  wore  his  plain  old  leather  shaps,  a 
navy  blue  shirt,  a  scarf  of  ruby  silk  against  his 
tanned  neck,  and  golden  Mexican  spurs — his  dearest 
treasure.  He  must  have  known  he  looked  magnifi- 
cent, for  he  carried  himself  with  such  quiet  dignity, 
and  his  deep  voice  thrilled  me,  for  it  was  music.  I 
could  hardly  respond  for  crying,  and  would  gladly 
have  been  alone  afterward  in  the  church  that  I 
might  thank  God  for  all  His  mercy. 

Captain  Taylor  is  a  retired  naval  officer,  a  pioneer 
of  the  gold  mines,  a  magistrate,  a  man  to  trust,  and 
when  he  gave  me  his  heartfelt  congratulations,  it 
was  not  without  knowledge  of  Jesse's  character.  He 
and  Pete,  the  cargador,  rode  with  us  to  the  camp  of 
his  Star  Pack-train,  and  it  was  there  in  the  forest 
that  we  ate  our  wedding  breakfast.  The  blue  haze  of 
Indian  summer,  the  serene  splendor  of  the  sunlit 
woods,  and  autumn  snow  on  all  the  shining  hills — 


LOVE  117 

such  was  our  banquet  hall,  and  a  rippling  brook  our 
orchestra.  We  drank  healths  in  champagne  from  tin 
cups,  and  then,  saddling  up,  Jesse  and  I  rode  away 
alone  into  the  solitudes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    LANDLORD 

Kate's  Narrative 

OF  his  life  before  he  reached  this  province  Jesse 
will  so  far  tell  me  nothing,  yet  his  speech  be- 
trays him,  for  under  the  vivid  dialect  of  the  stock 
range,  there  is  a  streak  of  sailor,  and  beneath  that  I 
detect  traces  of  brogue  w^hich  may  be  native  perhaps 
to  Labrador.  Out  of  a  chaos  of  books  he  has  picked 
words  which  pleased  him,  pronounced  of  course 
to  suit  himself,  and  used  in  some  sense  which  would 
shock  any  dictionary. 

His  manners  and  customs,  too,  are  a  field  for  re- 
search. Of  course  one  expects  him  to  be  professional 
with  rope,  gun,  and  ax,  but  how  did  he  learn  the 
rest?  I  wanted  a  lantern — he  made  one;  my  boot 
was  torn — he  made  one;  my  water-proof  coat  was 
ruined — he  made  one;  and  if  I  asked  for  a  sewing- 
machine,  he  would  refuse  to  move  camp  until  he  had 

ii8 


THE    LANDLORD  119 

one  finished.  If  his  name  were  not  Smith  I  could 
prove  him  directly  descended  from  the  Swiss  family 

Robinson.  If  a  project  sounds  risky,  I  have  to  as- 
sume that  it  is  something  unusually  safe,  as  the  only 
way  to  keep  him  out  of  danger.  If  I  should  ever 
wish  to  be  a  widow,  I  have  only  to  doubt  his  power 
to  fly  without  wings. 

Our  journey  last  autumn  led  us  into  most  awe- 
some recesses  of  the  coast  range.  Heads  of  the  sea 
fiords  lay  dismal  among  crowding  glaciers,  white 
cataracts  came  roaring  down  through  belt  after  belt 
of  clouds,  to  where  a  grim  surf  battled  with  black 
rocks.  In  that  dread  region  of  avalanche  and  rock- 
slide,  of  hanging  ice-cliffs,  roaring  storms,  ear-shat- 
tering thunder,  our  camp  seemed  too  frail  a  thing  to 
claim  existence,  our  thread  of  smoke  a  little  prayer 
for  mercy.  "Nary  a  dollar  in  sight,"  was  Jesse's 
comment.  "Such  microbes  don't  breed  here.  D'ye 
think  they'll  ever  vaccinate  agin  selfishness,  Kate? 
That  plague  kills  more  souls  than  smallpox." 

Guided  by  his  uncanny  woodcraft,  I  began  to 
meet  the  parishioners,  mountain  sheep  and  goats,  the 
elk  and  cariboo,  eagles,  bears,  wolverines,  and  cer- 
tainly I  shared  something  of  Jesse's  untiring  delight 


I20  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

in  all  wild  creatures.  Even  when  we  needed  meat 
in  camp,  and  some  plump  goose  or  mallard  was  at 
the  mercy  of  his  gun,  Jesse  would  sometimes  beg  the 
victim  off,  and  catch  more  trout.  "So  long  as  they 
don't  hunt  us,"  he  would  say,  "I'd  rather  tote  your 
camera  than  my  gun.  But  thar's  that  dog-gone 
beaver  down  the  crick,  he  tried  to  bite  me  yesterday 
again.  If  he  don't  tame  himself,  I'll  slap  his  face. 
Thinks  he's  editor." 

Were  there  no  clouds,  would  we  realize  that  the 
sky  is  blue?  If  no  little  misunderstandings  had  risen 
above  our  horizon,  would  Jesse  and  I  have  realized 
o.ur  wedded  happiness?  How  should  I  know  when  I 
read  his  pocket  diary,  what  was  meant  by  "one  night 
out.  Took  Matilda,"  or  "Matilda  and  Fussy  to- 
night," or  "marched  with  Harem!"  Matilda  and 
Fussy  if  you  please,  are  blankets,  and  the  Harem  is 
his  winter  camp  equipment. 

What  would  you  think  if  you  found  this  in  a 
book? 

He  says  it  means,  "Eating-house  woman  chasing — 
Jesse  galloping — home  dead  finish." 
And  some  of  it  is  worse! 


THE    LANDLORD  121 

I  dare  not  accuse  my  dear  man  of  being  narrow- 
minded.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  quite  justified 
in  his  intense  antipathy  to  niggers,  dagos,  and  chinks 
— indeed,  he  will  not  allow  my  Chinese  servant  on 
the  ranch.  But  if  I  wished  to  uncork  a  choice  vint- 
age of  stories,  I  alluded  to  his  prejudice  against  the 
word  "grizzly"  as  applied  to  his  pet  bear. 

'"Now  that's  whar  yo're  dead  wrong."  He  threw  a 
log  of  cedar  upon  our  camp  altar,  making  fresh  in- 
cense to  the  wild  gods.  "The  landlord's  a  silver-tip, 
fat  as  butter.  Down  in  the  low  country,  whar  feed 
is  mean,  and  Britishers  around,  the  b'ars  is  poor, 
and  called  grizzlies.  I'd  be  shamed  to  have  a  grizzly 
on  my  ranch.  Come  to  think,  though,  Kate,  the 
landlord  was  a  sure-enough  grizzly  three  years  back. 
He'd  had  misfortunes." 

"Tell  me."  As  he  stirred  the  fire,  gathering  his 
thoughts,  I  watched  the  cedar  sparks,  a  very  torch- 
light procession  of  fairies  flowing  upward  into  the 
darkness  overhead. 

"Wall,  you  see,  he  and  the  landlady  was  always 
around  same  as  you  and  me,  but  not  together.  No. 
Being  respectable  b'ars  they'd  feed  at  opposite  ends 
of  the  pasture." 


122  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"But  don't  the  married  couples  live  together?" 

"None.  They  feels  it  ain't  quite  modest  to  make 
a  show  of  their  marriage.  You  see,  Kate,  after  all, 
these  b'ars  is  not  like  us  but  sort  of  foreigners. 
Mother  gets  kind  of  secluded  when  there's  cubs, 
'cause  father's  so  careless  and  eats  'em." 

"How  disgusting!" 

"I  dunno.  Time  I  speak  of,  their  three  young 
lady  b'ars  was  married  somewheres  up  in  the  black 
pines,  whar  it  takes  say  fifty  square  miles  to  feed  one 
silver-tip — and  no  tourists  to  help  out  in  times  of 
famine.  That  country  was  gettin'  over-stocked, 
with  a  high  protective  tariff  agin  canon  b'ars. 

"And  here's  the  landlady  down  on  our  ranch, 
chuck  full  of  fiscal  theories.  'B'ars  is  good,'  says 
she,  'the  more  cubs  the  merrier,'  says  she,  'let's  be 
fruitful  and  multiply.'  And  it's  only  a  two  b'ar 
ranch.  Thar  ain't  no  England  handy  whar  she  can 
dump  spare  cubs. 

"So  the  landlord  gets  provident  and  eats  the  cubs. 
Naturally  thar's  a  sort  of  coolness  arises  over  that, 
so  that  she's  feeding  north,  while  he's  around  south. 
Then  the  salmon  season  happens.  There's  only  two 
fishing  rocks  in  our  reach,  the  same  being  close  to- 
gether.   The  landlord,  he  fishes  at  the  back-water 


THE    LANDLORD  123 

rock.  The  landlady  fishes  at  the  rapids  rock.  They 
has  to  pretend  they've  not  been  Introjuiced. 

"There's  been  heavy  rains,  and  up  on  the  edge  of 
the  bench  I  seen  a  new  crack  opening  across  Apex 
Rock.  I'd  have  put  up  a  danger  notice,  only  these 
people  thinks  it's  for  scratching  their  backs  on. 
There's  the  crack  getting  wider,  and  the  landlady 
fishing  right  underneath,  and  me  hoUerin,'  but  she's 
too  full  of  pride  to  care  about  my  worries.  So  I 
thinks  maybe  if  I  just  drop  her  a  hint  she'll  begin  to 
set  up  and  take  notice.  I  run  home  for  my  rifle, 
posts  myself  at  big  pine,  takes  a  steady  bead,  and 
lets  fly,  knocking  a  salmon  out  of  the  lady's  mouth. 
Then  I  remembers  that  the  shock  of  a  gunshot  is 
enough  to  loose  the  end  of  Apex  Rock.  It  does,  and 
while  the  scenery  is  being  rearranged,  the  landlady 
sets  up,  wondering  what's  the  trouble.  When  the 
dust  clears,  Apex  Rock  up  here  is  reduced  to  a 
stump ;  down  thar  by  the  rapids  the  fishing  rock's 
extended  with  additions;  the  landlord's  a  widower, 
running  for  all  he's  worth;  and  the  landlady  is  no 
more — not  enough  left  of  her  to  warrant  funeral 
obsequies." 

"Why  is  the  landlord  called  Eph?" 

"Christian    name.      Most  b'ars   is    Ephralm,   but 


124  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

he's  Ephrata  which  means  'be  open.'  I  tried  to  get 
him  to  be  open  with  me  instead  of  stealing  chickens. 
That's  when  the  bad  year  come." 

"Were  you  in  difficulties?" 

"Eph  was.  Them  canneries  down  to  salt  water, 
had  fished  the  Eraser  out,  and  the  hatchery  didn't 
get  to  its  work  until  the  fourth  year,  when  the  new 
spawn  come  back  to  their  home  river.  Yes,  and  the 
sarvis  berries  failed.  I  dunno  why,  but  the  silver- 
tips  of  this  districk  ain't  partial  to  the  same  kinds  of 
feed  as  they  practises  in  Montana  and  Idaho.  Down 
south  they'll  lunch  on  grubs,  ants,  or  dog-tooth  vio- 
lets, but  Eph  ain't  an  original  thinker.  He  runs  to 
application,  and  shies  at  new  ideas.  He'd  vote  con- 
servative. So  when  the  salmon  and  berries  went 
back  on  him,  he  sort  of  petered  out.  He  come  to  the 
cabin  and  said,  plain  as  talk,  he  was  nigh  quitting 
business." 

"But,  Jesse!  A  starving  gr — I  mean  b'ar. 
Weren't  you  afraid  even  then?" 

"Why  for?  My  pardner  attends  to  his  business, 
and  don't  interfere  with  my  hawss  ranch.  He  owns 
the  grubs,  berries,  salmon,  wild  honey  and  fixings. 
I  owns  the  grass,  stock,  chickens,  and  garden  sass. 
When  we  disagreed  about  them  cabbages,   I   shot 


THE    LANDLORD  125 

holes  in  his  ears  until  he  allowed  they  was  mine. 
His  ears  is  still  sort  of  untidy.  As  to  his  eating 
Sarah,  wall,  I  warned  her  not  to  tempt  poor  Eph  too 
much." 

"Sarah?" 

"Jones'  foal.  Being  a  fool  runs  in  her  family. 
Wall,  Sarah  died,  and  cabbages  was  gettin'  seldom, 
and  Eph  was  losing  confidence  in  my  aim,  although 
I  told  him  I'm  tough  as  sea  beef." 

"He  did  attack  you  then?" 

"Not  exactly.  His  acts  might  have  been  misun- 
derstood, though.  Seemed  to  me  it  was  time  to  sur- 
vey the  pasture,  and  see  how  much  in  the  way  of 
grub  could  be  spared  to  a  poor  widower.  These 
people  eats  meat,  but  they  like  it  butchered  for  'em, 
and  ripened.  Down  at  the  south  end,  I  spared  Eph 
a  family  of  wolverines,  one  at  a  time,  to  make  the 
rations  hold  out.  He  began  to  get  encouraged. 
Then  this  place  was  just  humming  with  rattlesnakes, 
so  Eph  and  me  just  went  around  together  so  long  as 
the  hunting  was  worth  the  trouble.  I  doubt  if 
there's  any  left." 

At  that  I  breatlied  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Then  Eph  gets  sassy,  wanting  squir'ls  and  chip- 
munks.    Now  thar  I  was  firm.     Every  striped  var- 


126  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

mint  of  'em  may  rob  my  oat  sacks,  every  squir'l  may 
set  up  and  cuss  me  all  day,  but  they  won't  get  hurt. 
They  scold  and  swear,  but  every  lil'  devil  among 
them  knows  I  like  being  insulted.  Though  they  has 
enemies — foxes,  mink,  skunk,  weasel,  I  fed  that  lot 
to  Eph,  saving  the  foxes.  Tell  you,  Kate,  the  land- 
lord began  to  get  so  proud  he  wouldn't  know  me." 

"Your  great  eagles,  Jesse;  they  kill  squirrels,  too." 

"That's  a  fact.  If  I  shot  the  eagles,  them  squir'ls 
would  get  too  joyful.  Eagles  acks  as  a  sort  of  re- 
ligion to  squir'ls,  or  they'd  forget  their  prayers.  The 
next  proposition  was  cougars." 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  you  killed  them.  At  the  old  ranch 
I  was  so  terrified  I'd  lie  awake  all  night." 

"And  you  a  musician !  Now  that's  curious.  You 
like  lil'  small  cats,  only  one  foot  from  top  to  tip,  al- 
though I  own  they're  songsters  for  their  size.  But 
a  nine  foot  cougar,  with  a  ten-thousand  cat-power 
voice,  composing  along  as  he  goes,  why  he's  full  of 
music.  Now  I  was  goin'  to  propose  a  cougar  opera 
troupe.  They'd  knock  the  stuffing  out  of  that  Wag- 
ner, anyway." 

"Not  for  me,  dear.  You  see,  there's  trade  rivalry, 
I  wish  you  had  shot  them." 

"I'm  sort  of  sorry.     Many's  the  time,  camped  on 


THE    LANDLORD  127 

your  bench  land,  which  I  own  is  a  good  place  for 
cougars,  I'd  set  up  half  the  night  to  listen.  They'd 
come  purring  so  close  I  could  see  their  eyes  glint. 
Seemed  to  me  they  sat  round  on  their  tails  and 
purred  because  they  liked  a  camp  whar  there  was  no 
gun-smell.  They  sang  love  songs,  big  war  songs, 
and  all  kinds  of  music.    Fancy  you  bein'  scared ! 

"Kill  them?  They're  hard  to  see  as  ghosts,  and 
every  time  you  fire  they  just  get  absent.  That  ain't 
the  reason  though,  for  if  the  landlord  wanted  cat's 
meat,  Ld  like  to  see  the  fight." 

"They'd  never  dare  to  fight  that  giant  bear!" 

"I  dunno.  Eph  ain't  lost  no  cougars.  He  treats 
them  as  total  strangers. 

"But  the  real  reason  I  fed  no  mountain-lions  to 
Eph  is  mostly  connected  with  sheep.  Cougars  does 
a  right  smart  business  In  sheep,  'specially  Surly 
Brown's,  Sheep  is  meaner's  snakes,  sheepmen  is 
meaner'n  sheep,  and  if  the  herders  disagrees  with 
the  cougars,  give  me  the  cougars.  Sheepmen  is 
dirt," 

There  spoke  the  unregenerate  cow-boy ! 

"But,  Jesse  dear,  are  you  sure  that  Eph  won't  ex- 
pect me  to  be  'spared'  next  time  he's  hungry?" 

"Why,    no.       He    was    raised    respectable,    and 


'128  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

there's  a  proper  etiquette  for  b'ars  on  meeting  a 
lady.  It's  sort  of  first  dance-movements  : — 'general 
slide,  pass  the  cloak-room,  and  whar's  my  little 
home?'" 

Jesse's  Note 

N.  B. — Kate  and  me  agrees  that  the  next  chapter 
has  to  be  cut  out,  being  dull.  It's  all  about  the  barn- 
raising  after  we  got  home  to  the  ranch.  The  neigh- 
bors put  us  up  a  fine  big  cabin  connecting  to  the  old 
one  by  a  covered  porch  of  cedar  shakes.  That's 
where  the  fire-wood  lives,  the  water-butt,  the  grind- 
stone, which  Kate  says  is  exactly  like  my  singing 
voice,  likewise  the  ax  and  saw. 

Of  course  our  house-raising  was  a  celebration, 
with  a  dance,  camp-fire,  water-butt  full  of  punch, 
and  headaches.  I  bet  five  dollars  I  was  the  only 
semaphore  signaler  In  our  district,  and  lost  It  to 
Iron  Dale,  who  learned  signaling  five  years  ago 
during  the  Riel  rebellion.  Cap  Taylor  put  up  a  sig- 
nal system  for  our  use,  of  fires  by  night  or  big 
smokes  by  day.  One  means  a  celebration,  two  means 
help,  and  three  means  war.  The  women  beat  the 
men  at  tug-of-war,  but  that  was  due  to  the  widow's 
wooden  leg  being  a  rallying  point  for  the  battle. 


THE    LANDLORD  I2g 

Eph  being  holed  up  for  the  winter,  I  got  more  popu- 
lar. 

After  the  celebration  we  settled  for  the  winter, 
and  I  put  all  the  ponies  except  Jones  and  the  sleigh 
team  down  in  the  canon  pasture.  That  made  the 
ranch  sort  of  lonesome,  but  we're  short  of  hay  on 
account  of  the  wedding-trip.     We're  broke. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR 

Jesse's  Letter 

MOTHER,  I'm  married.  I  thought  I'd  got 
bliss  by  the  horns,  but  seems  I've  not  roped 
what  I  throwed  for,  and  what  I've  caught  is  trouble. 
I  wish  you  weren't  in  Heaven,  which  feels  kind  of 
cold  and  distant  when  a  fellow's  lonesome.  Nobody 
loves  me,  and  the  mosquitoes  has  mistook  me  for  a 
greenhorn. 

I  can't  smoke  in  the  lady's  home,  and  when  it's 
forty  below  zero  outside,  a  pipe  clogs  with  ice  from 
your  breath.  Chewing  is  worse,  because  she  cried. 
She  don't  need  my  guns,  saddles,  and  me,  or  any 
sort  of  litter  whar  she  beds  down,  and  my  table  man- 
ners belongs  under  the  table.  Men,  she  says,  feeds 
sitting  down,  so  they  won't  be  mistook  for  animals, 
which  stand  up. 

Loyal  Englishmen  like  the  late  Trevor  now  fry- 
ing, has  a  cold  bath  every  morning,  specially  in  win- 

130 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR     131 

ter,  which  throws  a  surprising  light  upon  his  last 
symptoms.  It's  that  frozen  manner  and  pyjamas, 
which  makes  the  Englishman  so  durned  popular.  If 
I  belonged  to  the  episcopal  sect,  wearing  a  coat  in 
the  house  instead  of  out-of-doors,  and  used  pink 
tooth-paste  instead  of  yellow  soap,  maybe  I'd  like 
my  hash  with  curry  powder,  and  have  some  hope  of 
going,  when  I  die,  to  parts  of  Heaven  where  the 
English  keeps  open  windows,  instead  of  open  house. 
Meanwhile  I  jest  moved  back  into  the  old  cabin  with 
Mick, — he's  wagging  himself  by  the  tail  between  my 
legs  to  say  as  this  writing  habit  is  a  vice.  If  I'd  only 
a  bottle  of  whisky  now  I'd  be  good,  but  as  it's  eighty 
miles  to  refreshments,  he's  got  to  put  up  with  vice. 

This  here  storm  has  been  running  the  province 
since  Monday,  and  making  itself  at  home  as  if  it  had 
come  to  stay.  Put  your  nose  to  the  door  and  it's 
froze,  so  it's  no  fun  crossing  to  the  stable.  I  just  got 
back.  Horses  like  to  lick  white  men  because  we  taste 
salt  from  eating  so  much  in  our  bacon,  but  that  mare 
Jones  takes  liberties  in  kicking  me  through  the  door 
when  she  knows  durned  well  it's  shut. 

Mrs.  Trevor's  husband  was  an  opera  singer  which 
mislaid  his  vocal  cords,  so  settled  here  to  be  on  his 
romantic  lonesome,   and  spite  his  wife.      Fle  went 


132  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

loco,  and  mistook  her  for  a  bear;  she  broke  her 
ankle  stampeding;  and  I  took  an  interest,  he  shoot- 
ing me  up  considerable  until  he  met  with  an  acci- 
dent. Then  his  widow  married  me,  and  I'm  plumb 
disheartened. 

II 

I  was  cooking  slapjacks,  which  gives  quick  satis- 
faction for  the  time  invested,  when  Iron  Dale  rolled 
in  on  his  way  home.  Says  my  high-grade  slapjacks 
is  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of.  With  him  quot- 
ing Scripture  like  that  I  got  suspicious  about  his 
coming  around  by  this  ranch,  instead  of  hitting 
straight  for  Sky-line.  On  that  he  owns  up  to  some- 
thing dam  curious  and  disturbing  to  my  fur.  Thar's 
a  stranger  at  Hundred  Mile  House,  claiming  he's 
come  from  London,  England,  to  find  my  wife. 

On  the  stage  sleigh  from  Ashcroft  this  person  got 
froze,  which  mostly  happens  to  a  tenderfoot,  who'd 
rather  freeze  like  a  man  than  run  behind  like  a  dog. 
So  of  course  he  comes  in  handy  for  poor  Doc  Mc- 
Gee.  Our  people  being  hale  and  artful  as  bears,  Mc- 
Gee  would  be  out  of  practise  altogether  but  for  such, 
so  I  hope  he'll  make  good  out  of  this  here  perishable 
stranger,  the  same  being  a  useful  absentee  from  my 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR     133 

ranch.  He's  got  a  sort  of  puppy  piano  along, 
which  grieves  me  to  think  our  settlers  must  be  get- 
ting out  of  date  with  such  latest  improvements,  and 
other  settlements  liable  to  throw  dirt  in  our  face. 
Puppy  pianos  which  tinkle  isn't  priced  yet  in  the 
Hudson's  Bay  store  catalog.  Seems  it's  called  harp- 
secord,  and  this  person  plays  it  night  and  day,  so 
that  the  ranch  hands  is  quitting,  and  Cap  Taylor 
charges  him  double  money  for  board.  I  wonder 
what  he  wants  with  my  wife,  anyhow.  The  missus 
wants  me  to  take  the  sleigh  and  collect  him.  I  dunno 
but  seems  to  my  dim  intellecks  that  would  be  meet- 
ing trouble  half-way,  besides  robbing  the  doctor  and 
Capt.  Taylor  who  done  me  no  harm. 

Ill 

This  morning,  after  rigging  a  life-line  to  the 
stable  because  of  this  continuing  blizzard,  I  went  to 
the  lady's  home.  She  showed  me  a  letter  Dale 
brought,  in  eytalian,  which  says  the  swine  proposes 
to  kiss  her  feet,  and  wallow  in  divine  song,  etc.  His 
name  is  Salvator,  so  he's  a  dago.  She,  being  white, 
can't  have  any  truck  with  such,  being  the  same  specie 
as  niggers,  so  that's  all  right.  Seems  the  puppy 
piano  is  for  her  from  her  beloved  maestro,  another 


134  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

swine  from  the  same  litter.  She's  singing  now,  and 
it  goes  through  my  bones.  Her  voice  is  deep  as  a 
man's,  strong  as  Eraser  Rapids,  and  I  own  that 
puppy  piano  appeals  to  my  best  instinks.  As  for  me, 
my  name's  mud,  and  she  treads  in  it. 

IV 

The  wind  went  chasing  after  the  sun,  leaving 
peace  and  clear  stars,  so  this  morning  it  must  be 
sixty  below  zero  by  the  way  the  logs  are  splitting. 
At  noon  Tearful  George  transpires,  dumping  the 
puppy  piano,  and  the  swine  with  his  nose  in  a  muff. 
Tearful  had  capsized  the  sleigh  over  stumps  to  make 
his  passenger  run  instead  of  arriving  here  like  frozen 
meat,  but  appears  it  hadn't  done  the  harpsecord  no 
good.  He  said  he'd  roll  his  tail  before  any  more 
music  broke  out,  so  didn't  stay  dinner.  The  swine 
was  down  on  one  knee  In  front  of  the  missus,  slob- 
bering over  her  hand.  She  was  kneading  doe  at  the 
time,  and  there's  some  on  his  nose. 

He's  got  an  angels-ever-bright-and-fair  expres- 
sion, smiles  to  turn  milk,  dog's  eyes,  and  a  turn- 
down collar.  He  calls  her  Donner  Addoller-r-r- 
ra-ta,  and  looks  as  if  he  hadn't  had  much  to  eat  on 
the   trail   with  Tearful,  though  they'd   camped   at 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR      135 

Widow  O'Flynn's  where  pie  occurs  whenever  her 
Billy's  to  home. 

Kate's  pleased  all  to  pieces.  Seems  this  gent  in 
the  paper  collar  has  wrote  an  opera,  and  there's  a 
party  goes  by  the  name  of  Impress  Ario,  song  and 
dance  artist,  putting  it  on  the  stage  at  London,  Eng- 
land. The  leading  woman  sings  base,  and  that's 
why  Kate  is  wanted.  To  the  only  woman  on  earth 
who  sings  base  enough,  they  sends  this  dingus  and 
the  organ-grinder.  She  says  it's  a  business  proposi- 
tion with  money  in  it,  and  wants  me  to  come  along  to 
the  Old  Country.  She'd  have  me  in  a  collar  and 
chain  with  a  pink  bow  at  my  off  ear,  promenading 
in  Strand  Street. 

She's  been  having  a  rough  time  here,  mostly  liv- 
ing on  wild  meat,  without  money  or  servants.  I'd 
like  well  to  see  her  happier;  I  know  her  music  be- 
longs to  the  whole  v/orld,  and  I've  no  right  to  hold 
her  for  any  selfishness.  If  it's  up  to  her  to  go,  it's 
agin  me  to  look  pleased,  and  she  shall  go  the  day  I 
believe  in  her  call. 

She  and  the  tinkle  dingus  and  the  swine  are  at  It 
full  blast.  He's  screeching  nil  desperandum,  she's 
thundering  "Shut-ut  the  dooroh  !"  "Ting  ting  tong 
banggo !"  says  the  puppy  piano,  while  Mick  in  here 


136  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

hewla  like  a  moonstruck  wolf.  I  dunno,  but  seems 
to  me  that  when  you're  out  at  night  between  the 
stars  and  the  mountains  and  the  river  praising  God 
in  the  canon,  there's  music  reaching  from  your  soul 
to  the  Almighty,  and  peace  descending  right  out  of 
Heaven.  Oh,  Lord,  speak  to  my  wife,  and  tell  her 
there's  more  love  right  here,  than  in  all  the  sham 
passions  of  all  the  damned  operas  put  together.  But 
now  she's  following  after  vain  swine. 

V 

I  made  the  dago  bed  down  in  here,  but  he  flopped 
over  to  breakfast  and  they've  been  at  it  hammer  and 
tongs  ever  since.  "Tinkie  tankie  ping  ping  pee-chee- 
ree-ho-0  !  Oh  !  Oho  !  me-catamiaou-ow-yow." 
Cougars  is  kittens  to  it,  but  I'm  durned  ignorant,  and 
I  notice  that  the  signor  looked  on  while  she 
washed  up. 

I  didn't  sorrow  with  Kate  persuading  me  to  drive 
them  as  far  as  Hundred  Mile.  The  sound  of  her 
voice  stampedes  me  every  time,  but  when  the  dago 
tries  to  stroke  my  ears,  he  was  too  numerous,  so  I 
held  his  head  in  the  bucket  until  he  began  to  subside. 
I  don't  take  to  him  a  whole  lot. 

From  when  I'd  finished  the  horses,  till  nigh  on 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR     137 

sundown,  the  music  tapered  off,  and  I  got  more  and 
more  rattled.    At  last  I  walked  right  in. 

She'd  a  black  dress,  indecent  round  the  shoulders, 
and  a  bright  star  on  her  brow.  She  stood  with  the 
swine's  arms  around  her,  until  at  the  sight  of  me  he 
shrank  off,  guilty  as  hell.  There  was  nary  a  flicker 
of  shame  or  fear  to  her,  but  she  just  stood  there 
looking  so  grand  and  beautiful  that  my  breath 
caught  in  my  throat  "Why,  Jesse,"  she  said,  her 
voice  all  soft  with  joy,  "I'm  so  glad  you've  come  to 
see.  It's  the  great  scene,  the  renunciation.  Come, 
Salvator,  from  'Thy  people  shall  be — '  " 

I  twisted  him  by  the  ear  into  my  cabin,  he  talking 
along  like  a  gramophone.  I  set  him  down  on  the 
stool,  myself  on  the  bunk,  inspecting  him  while  I  cut 
baccy,  and  had  a  pipe.  If  I  let  him  fight  me  with 
guns,  she'd  make  a  hero  of  him.  If  I  hoofed  him 
into  the  cold  or  otherwise  wafted  him  to  the  dago 
paradise,  she'd  make  a  villain  of  me. 

"You  wrote  an  opery,"  says  I. 

He  explains  with  his  tongue,  his  eyes,  and  both 
paws  waving  around  for  the  time  it  takes  to  boil 
eggs.     I'm  not  an  egg. 

"You  give  the  leading  woman  a  base  voice?" 

He  boiled  over  some  more. 


138  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"So  you  got  an  excuse  for  coming." 

He  spread  out  over  the  landscape. 

"ThinkinV'  sez  I,  "that  she'd  nothin'  more  than 
Trevor  to  guard  her  honor." 

More  talk. 

"But  you  found  her  married  with  a  man." 

He  wanted  to  go  alone  to  civilization. 

"You  stay  here,"  I  says,  "and  Salvator,  you're  go- 
ing to  earn  your  board." 

VI 

I  ain't  claiming  that  this  Salvator  actually  earned 
his  grub  this  month.  He  can  clean  stables  now  with- 
out being  kicked  into  a  curry  hash;  he  can  chop 
water  holes  through  ice,  and  has  only  parted  with 
one  big  toe  up  to  date;  he  can  buck  fire- wood  if  I 
tend  him  with  spurs  and  quirt;  but  his  dish-washing 
needs  more  rehearsals,  and  he  ain't  word  perfect  yet 
at  scrubbing  floors.  He's  less  fractious  and  slothful 
since  he  was  up-ended  and  spanked  in  presence  of  a 
lady,  but  on  the  other  hand,  there's  a  lack  of  joy, 
cheerfulness,  and  application.  He's  too  full  of  dumb 
yearnings,  and  his  pure  white  soul  seems  to  worry 
him,  but  then  there's  bucking  horses  for  him  to  ride 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR      139 

in  spring,  and  first  exercises  in  bears.  My  bear  had 
ought  to  be  a  powerful  tonic. 

I  sent  a  cable  message  by  Tearful  George  to  the 
song  and  dance  artist  who's  running  the  swine's 
opery,  just  inquiring  if  he'd  remitted  Salvator  to 
collect  my  wife.  The  reply  is  indignant  to  say  that 
the  swine  is  a  liar.  Likewise  there's  a  paragraph  in 
the  Vancouver  papers  about  the  illustrious  young 
composer,  Salvator  Milani,  who's  disappeared,  it 
seems,  into  the  wilds.  His  wife  is  desolated,  his  kids 
is  frantic,  the  Salvatori,  a  musical  society,  is  offering 
•rewards,  which  may  come  in  useful,  and  the  rest  of 
mankind  throws  fits.  This  paper  owns  up  that  the 
departed  is  careless  and  absent-minded,  and  I  just 
pause  to  observe  that  he  hasn't  made  my  bed.  He'll 
?iave  some  quirt  for  supper. 

As  to  my  wife,  she'd  never  believe  that  the  swine 

wasn't  sent  to  fetch  her,  or  that  he's  deserted  his  wife 

and  family.     She  thinks  he's  a  little  cock  angel,  and 

me  a  cock  devil.  She'll  have  to  find  him  out  for  her- 
self. 

VII 

My  wife  has  run  away  with  him. 


I40  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

VIII 

I  could  pick  stars  like  apples.  Here's  me  with  my 
pipe  and  dog  in  my  home,  and  my  dear  wife  content. 
,The  Dook  of  London  has  no  more,  except  frills.  I 
hardly  know  whar  to  begin,  'cept  whar  I  left  off 
without  mentioning  how  they  run  away.  The  illus- 
trious didn't  have  the  nerve,  so  it  was  my  lady  who 
stole  over  to  stable  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  har- 
nessed the  team  so  silent  I  never  woke.  She  drove 
off  with  her  trunks,  the  puppy  piano,  and  her  swine, 
on  a  bitter  night  with  eighty  mile  ahead  before  she'd 
get  any  help  if  things  went  wrong.  She  has  the  pure 
grit,  my  great  thoroughbred  lady,  and  it  makes  me 
feel  real  good  to  think  of  the  way  she  followed  her 
conscience  along  that  unholy  trail  through  the  black 
pines. 

By  dawn  she  put  up  for  breakfast  at  O'Flynn's. 
The  widow  had  broke  her  leg  reproaching  a  cow, 
and  sent  off  her  son  to  the  carpenter  at  Hundred  and 
Fifty  Mile  House  to  get  the  same  repaired.  Her  bed 
was  beside  the  stove,  with  cord-wood,  water,  and 
grub  all  within  reach.  It  was  real  awkward  though 
that  the  stove  had  petered  out,  and  the  water  bucket 
froze  solid  while  she  slept,  so  she  was  expecting  to 
be  wafted  before  her  son  got  home,  when  Kate  ar- 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR      141 

rived  in  time  to  save  her  from  Heaven.  The  signer 
volunteers  to  make  fire  and  cook  grub  while  Kate 
fed  and  watered  the  team,  so  my  wife  has  the  pleas- 
ure of  chopping  out  a  five-foot  well  at  Bent  Creek, 
while  this  unselfish  cavalierio  stayed  in  the  house 
and  got  warm.  Naturally  he  didn't  know  enough  to 
light  the  stove,  until  the  widow  threw  things,  and  he 
got  the  coal-oil.  Then  he  disremembered  how  to 
soak  the  kindlings  before  he  struck  a  match,  so  he  lit 
the  fuel  first,  then  stood  over  pouring  oil  from  the 
five-gallon  can.  When  the  fire  lep'  up  into  the  can, 
of  course  he  had  to  let  go,  and  when  he  seen  the 
cabin  all  in  flames,  he  galloped  off  to  the  woods, 
leaving  the  Widow  O'Flynn  to  burn  comfy  all  by 
herself. 

By  the  time  Kate  reaches  the  cabin,  the  open  door 
Is  all  flames ;  but,  having  the  ice  ax,  she  runs  to  the 
gable  end,  and  hacks  in  through  the  window.  The 
bed's  burning  quite  brisk  by  then,  but  the  widow  has 
quit  out,  climbed  to  the  window  and  gone  to  sleep 
with  the  smoke,  so  that  Kate  climbs  in  and  alights 
on  top  of  her  sudden.  The  fire  catches  hold  of  my 
wife,  but  she  swings  the  widow  through  the  window, 
climbs  out,  lights  on  top  of  her  again,  then  takes  a 
roll  in  the  snow. 


142  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

When  the  illustrious  comes  out  of  the  woods  to  ex- 
plain, d'ye  think  she'd  listen?  I  can  just  see  him 
explaining  with  dago  English,  paws,  shoulders,  and 
eyes.  She  leaves  him  explaining  in  front  of  the 
burning  cabin.  Three  days  from  now  young  O'Flynn 
will  ride  home  with  his  mother's  limb  tied  to  the 
saddle  strings,  and  if  the  swine's  alive  then,  he'll 
begin  explaining  again,  though  Billy's  quick  and 
fretful  with  his  gun. 

My  wife  humped  this  widow  to  the  barn,  and  got 
warm  clothes  from  her  trunks  for  both  of  them.  She 
fired  out  her  baggage  and  the  puppy  piano,  bedded 
down  the  widow  in  clean  hay,  hitched  up  the  team, 
and  hit  the  trail  for  home. 

She  hadn't  a  mile  to  go  before  she  met  me,  and 
what  with  the  smoke  from  O'Flynn's,  the  widow  in 
the  rig,  and  the  complete  absence  of  the  swine,  I'd 
added  up  before  she  reined  her  team.  She  would 
want  to  cr}'  in  my  arms. 

So  she's  in  bed  here,  her  burns  dressed  with  oil 
from  a  bear  who  held  me  up  once  on  the  Sky-line 
trail.  It's  good  oil.  The  widow's  asleep  in  my  cabin, 
and  I'm  right  to  home  with  this  letter  wrote  to  you, 
Mother.     I  guess  you  know,  Mummy,  why  me  and 


THE    ILLUSTRIOUS    SALVATOR      143 

my  pipe  and  my  dog  are  welcome  now,  which  you've 
lived  in  your  time  and  loved. 

So  hoping  you're  in  Heaven,  as  this  leaves  me  at 
present.  Yr.  affect,  son, 

Jesse. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 

Kate's  Narrative 

WE  have  started  a  visitor's  book.  It  opens  with 
press  cuttings  of  interviews  with  Professor 
Bohns,  the  famous  archaeologist,  who  came  to  ex- 
amine the  paleolithic  deposits  at  South  Cave.  Next 
are  papers  relating  to  a  summons  for  assault,  brought 
by  the  late  Mr.  Trevor  against  J.  Smith.  There  is  a 
letter  from  a  big  game  hunter,  Sir  Turner  Rounde, 
who  came  up  the  cafion  collecting  specimen  pelts  of 
ursus  horribilis,  which  Jesse  maintains  is  not  a  griz- 
zly bear.  But  the  gem  of  our  collection  is  a  letter  of 
lengthy  explanation  from  an  eminent  Italian  cur, 
who  spent  a  whole  month  at  the  ranch  last  winter. 
Nobody  is  more  hospitable,  or  more  hungry  for  pop- 
ularity than  my  dear  man,  but  I  think  that  special 
prayers  should  be  offered  for  his  visitors.  He  has  a 
motto    now: — "Love    me:    love   my   bear,    not   my 


missus." 


144 


ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS  145 

My  jealous  hero  has  told  the  story  of  an  old  ad- 
mirer, once  my  fellow-student,  who  brought  me  a 
dumpy  piano  for  which  I  had  so  starved,  told  me  the 
news,  talked  shop,  and  would  make  me  a  prima 
donna — my  life's  ambition.  The  trap  was  well 
baited.  Lonely,  and  terrified  by  the  dread  majesty 
of  winter,  I  craved  for  the  lights,  for  the  crowds,  for 
my  home,  for  my  people,  for  my  art.  '  And  there  are 
little  things  besides  which  mean  so  much  to  a  woman. 

Salvator  turned  out  to  be  a  cur,  his  mission  des- 
picable, and  yet  no  woman  born  can  ever  be  without 
some  little  tenderness  for  one  whose  love  misleads 
him.  And  I  who  sought  to  read  a  lesson  to  poor 
Jesse,  learned  one  for  myself.  I  am  no  longer  free, 
but  fettered,  and  proud  of  the  chains,  Love's  chains, 
worth  more  to  me  than  that  lost  world. 

And  yet  I  wonder  if  in  Heaven  there  are  blessed 
but  weak  little  souls  like  mine,  which  grow  weary 
at  times  of  the  harps,  chafed  by  their  crowns  of 
glory,  bored  to  tears  with  bliss,  ready  to  give  It  all 
up  just  for  a  nice  gossip.    That  would  be  human. 

Where  spring  has  come  like  a  visitation  of  angels, 
where  winter's  loneliness  is  changing  to  summer's 
happy  solitude,  I  look  into  mirror  pools,  and  see  con- 
tentment.    Oh,  how  can  civilized  people  realize  the 


146  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

wonder  and  glamour  of  this  paradise?  Up  in  thifi 
black  pines  it  is  winter  still,  but  all  our  towered, 
bayed,  sculptured,  sunny  precipice  is  alive  with  flow- 
ers and  birds,  while  the  slopes  at  the  foot  of  the  wall 
are  white  with  the  blossom  of  wild  orchards.  Here 
our  bench  pasture  is  a  little  sky  with  marigolds  for 
stars.  Down  in  the  lower  canon  the  trees  are  in 
summer  leaf.  The  canaries  are  nesting,  the  hum- 
ming-birds have  just  come,  the  bees  are  having  a 
wedding,  just  as  Mendelssohn  told  us,  and  Jesse  and 
I  are  quite  ashamed  of  ourselves,  because  the  wid- 
ow's reproachful  eyes  have  found  us  out.  We  are 
not  really  and  truly  grown  up. 

Why  should  the  poor  sour  woman  be  afraid  of 
fairies  ?  But  then  you  see  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of 
the  landlord,  until,  emerging  gaunt  and  haggard 
from  his  winter  sleep,  Eph  came  to  inquire  for 
treacle.  He  had  a  dish  of  golden  syrup,  bless  him, 
and  no  baby  short  of  nine  feet  from  tip  to  tip,  could 
ever  have  got  himself  in  such  a  mess.  He  still  thinks 
I'm  rather  dangerous. 

One  morning,  it  must  have  been  the  twenty-sixth, 
I  think,  we  had  a  caller,  destined,  I  fear,  to  entry  in 
our  visitor's  book.  Jesse  had  ridden  off  to  see  how 
his  ponies  thrive  on  the  new  grass,  Mrs.   O'Flynn 


ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS  147 

was  redding  up  after  breakfast,  and  finding  myself 
in  the  way,  I  took  my  water  colors  down  to  Apex 
Rock,  to  see  if  one  sketch  would  hold  winter,  spring, 
summer,  as  viewed  from  the  center  of  wonderland. 

Now  our  house  being  in  full  view  from  the  apex, 
and  sound  traveling  magically  in  this  clear  at- 
mosphere, I  heard  voices,  Mrs.  O'Flynn  had  a  vis- 
itor, and  I  was  in  such  a  jealous  hurry  to  share  the 
gossip,  that  my  sketch  went  over  the  cliff  as  I  rose 
to  run.  A  rather  handsome  man,  in  the  splendid 
cow-boy  dress,  stood  by  a  chestnut  gelding,  such  a 
horse  aristocrat  that  I  made  sure  he  must  sport  a 
coat  of  arms.  Moreover,  in  a  gingerly  and  reluctant 
way,  as  though  under  orders,  he  was  kissing  Mrs. 
O'Flynn.   She  beamed,  bless  her  silly  old  heart! 

Mrs.  O'Flynn  looks  on  her  truthfulness  as  a  qual- 
ity too  precious  for  every-day  use,  and  so  care- 
fully has  it  been  preserved  that  in  her  fifty-fourth 
year  it  shows  no  signs  of  wear.  Hence,  on  reaching 
the  house  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  that  her  visitor 
was  a  total  stranger. 

From  chivalrous  respect  for  women — the  species 
being  rare  on  the  stock  range — cow-boys  are  shy,  us- 
ually tongue-tied.  In  a  land  where  it  is  accounted  ill- 
bred  to  ask  a  personal  question,  as,  for  instance,  to 


148  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

inquire  of  your  guest  his  name,  where  he  comes  from, 
or  whither  he  is  bound,  cow-punchers  take  a  pride  in 
their  reticence.  They  never  make  obvious  remarks, 
ask  needless  questions,  or  interfere  with  matters  be- 
yond their  concern. 

In  the  cattle  country  a  visitor  asked  to  dismount, 
makes  camp  or  house  his  home,  never  suggesting  by 
word  or  glance  a  doubt  that  he  is  welcome  to  water, 
pasturage,  food,  shelter,  and  warmth,  so  long  as  he 
needs  to  stay.  I  had  not  invited  this  man  to  dis- 
mount. 

Judged  by  these  signs — chivalry,  reticence,  cour- 
tesy— Mrs.  O'Flynn's  guest  was  not  a  cow-boy.  His 
florid  manners,  exaggerated  politeness,  and  imitation 
of  our  middle-class  English  speech  stamped  him 
bounder,  but  not  of  the  British  breed.  Later,  in  mo- 
ments of  excitement,  he  spoke  New  York,  with  a 
twang  of  music-hall. 

Even  in  so  lonely  a  place  It  Is  curious  to  remember 
that  such  a  person  should  appeal  to  me.  Still  in  his 
common  way  the  man  had  beauty,  carried  his  clothes 
well,  moved  with  grace.  So  much  the  artist  in  me 
saw  and  liked,  but  I  think  no  woman  could  have  seen 
those  tragic  eyes  without  being  Influenced. 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Smith,  I  believe?"  He  stood  uncovered. 


ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS  149 

"May  I  venture  to  ask  if  your  husband  is  at  home? 
I  think  I  had  the  pleasuah  of  knowing  him  years  ago 
down  in  Texas." 

"He'll  be  back  by  noon." 

"Thank  you,  madam.  Fact  is,  we  were  very  much 
surprised  to  see  your  chimney  smoke.  We  thought 
this  exquisite  place  was  quite  unoccupied.    Indeed!" 

"Who's 'we'?" 

"Oh,  we're  the  outfit  riding  for  General  Schmidt. 
We've  come  in  search  of  the  spring  feed.  We  were 
informed  that  Ponder's  place  was  unoccupied,  open 
to  all.  Am  I  mistaken  in  supposing  that  this  is  Pon- 
der's place?" 

"It  is." 

"Er — may  I  venture  to  ask  if  your  husband  holds 
squatter's  rights,  or  has  the  homestead  and  preemp- 
tion?" 

"You  may  ask  my  husband." 

"Thank  you,  madam.  Our  foreman  instructed  me 
to  say  that  if  the  place  proved  to  be  occupied,  I  was 
to  ask  terms  for  pasturage.  We've  only  two  hun- 
dred head." 

"Mr.  Smith  will  consider  the  matter." 

"We're  camped  in  a  little  cave  at  the  south  end 
of  the  bench,  deuced  comfortable." 


I50  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Of  course  I  know  I'm  a  fool,  and  expect  to  be 
treated  as  such.  But  this  man  claimed  to  have 
camped  at  the  South  Cave  without  passing  this 
house,  which  was  impossible. 

"Camped  at  South  Cave?"  said  I.  "In  that  event 
I  need  not  detain  you.  Mr.  Smith  no  doubt  will 
call  on  you  after  dinner.     Good  morning,  sir." 

But  this  was  not  to  his  mind,  and  I  gathered 
vaguely  that  my  husband  was  not  really  wanted  at 
the  Bar  Y  camp.  I  even  suspected  that  this  visitor 
would  rather  deal  with  me  than  see  my  husband. 
It  required  more  than  a  hint  to  secure  his  departure. 

Jesse  returned  at  noon.  He  had  set  off  singing, 
but  at  dinner  he  was  so  thoughtful  that  he  never 
even  noticed  my  casserole,  a  dish  he  was  expected 
to  enjoy,  and  when  he  tried  afterward  to  light  an 
empty  pipe,  I  saw  that  there  was  something  wrong. 
He  received  the  story  of  our  caller  with  the  noises 
of  one  displeased.  "That  visitor,  Kate,"  he  summed 
up,  "would  make  a  first-class  stranger.  Knew  me, 
you  say,  in  Texas?" 

Hearing  from  hpr  kitchen  Mrs.  O'Flynn's  sharp 
grunt  of  dissent,  I  closed  the  door. 

"You've  left  the  key-hole  open,"  said  Jesse,  rising 
from  the  table,  "come  for  a  walk." 


ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS  151 

"Now,  Kate  dear,"  Jesse  sat  down  beside  me  on 
the  Apex  Rock,  "this  morn  you  got  your  first 
lesson  in  robbers.  How  would  you  like  a  visit  to 
old  Cap  Taylor  at  Hundred  Mile?" 

My  voice  may  have  quivered  just  a  little.  "Dan- 
ger?" I  asked. 

"I  dunno  as  there's  actual  danger,  but  if  I  jest 
knowed  you  was  safe,  I'd  be  free  to  act  prompt." 

"Tell  me  everything,  Jesse," 

"Up  at  the  north  end  of  the  bench,  there's  maybe 
two  hundred  head  of  strange  cattle.  One  pedigree 
short-horn  bull  is  worth  all  of  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars,  and  there's  a  Hereford  stud  I'd  take  off  my 
hat  to  anywheres.  There's  Aberdeens  or  Angus — • 
I  get  them  poll  breeds  mixed — and  a  bunch  of  Jer- 
seys grazing  apart,  purty  as  deer.  Anyways,  that 
herd's  worth  maybe  two  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
every  hoof  of  'em  stolen,  and  if  you  raked  all  them 
millionaire  ranches  in  California  I  doubt  you'd  get 
that  value." 

"How  do  you  know  they're  stolen?" 

"No  stock  owner  needs  that  amount  of  stud  cattle. 
We  don't  raise  such  in  the  north,  so  they've  been 
drifted  in  here  from  the  States.  They're  gaunt 
with  famine  and  driving,  and  it  beats  me  to  think 


152  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

how  many  more's  been  left  dead  crossing  the  Black 
Pine  country.  The  Bar  Y  brands  has  been  faked. 
The  parties  herding  'em  waits  till  I'm  away,  and 
tries  to  make  a  deal  with  you  for  pasturage.  The 
gent  with  the  sad  eyes  is  sent  dressed  up  to  fool  a 
woman." 

"But  how  could  even  robbers  collect  such  a  won- 
derful herd?" 

"Kate,  in  them  western  states  there's  just  about 
four  hundred  cow  thieves  working  together,  which 
you'll  see  them  advertised  in  the  papers  robbing 
coaches,  trains,  pay  for  mining-camps,  or  now  and 
again  some  bank.  Still  that's  just  vacations,  and 
the  main  business  is  lifting  cattle. 

"Ye  see,  Kate,  they'd  collect  an  occasional  stud, 
such  as  these  here  imported  thoroughbreds,  too  good 
to  lose,  too  well-known  to  sell,  too  hot  to  hold. 
They'd  keep  'em  in  some  hid-up  pasture.  But  some- 
times the  people  prods  the  sheriffs  to  get  a  move  on, 
or  Uncle  Sam  sends  pony  soldiers  to  play  hell  with 
the  sovereign  rights  of  them  holy  western  states. 
Then  the  robbers  is  apt  to  scatter  down  in  store 
clothes,  for  a  drunk  at  'Frisco.  This  time  I  seen  in 
the  papers  that  Uncle  Sam  is  rounding  up  his  rob- 


ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS  153 

bers,  so  naturally  the  pick  of  their  stealings  requires 
hiding.  They'd  drive  north  for  the  British  posses- 
sions, but  on  the  plains  there's  too  much  mounted 
police,  whereas  this  British  Columbia  has  one  dis- 
trict constable  to  a  district  the  size  of  the  old 
country.  Yes,  they'd  come  to  this  province,  and  this 
here  ranch  of  ours  is  a  sort  of  North  Pole  to  the 
stock  range.  Since  old  man  Ponder  quit  out,  and  I 
squatted,  only  the  neighbors  know  that  the  ranch  is 
claimed. 

"Now,  Kate,"  his  great  strong  arm  closed  round 
me  like  a  vise.  "The  hull  country  knows  you're 
clear  grit,  so  there's  no  shame  in  leaving.  For  my 
sake,  dear — " 

"Do  you  think  I'd  leave  you  in  danger?" 

He  sighed.  "I  knew  it.  I  cayn't  help  it,  and, 
Kate,  it's  the  truth,  I'd  rather  see  you  dead  than 
scared.  There's  Madam  Grizzly,  and  Senora  Cou- 
gar, there's  Lady  Elk,  and  even  Mrs.  Polecat,  brave 
as  lions.  I'd  hate  to  have  my  mate  the  only  one  to 
run  like  a  scalded  cat." 

"The  program,  Jesse?" 

"Do  you  remember,  Kate,  how  we  lost  five  dollars 
finding  out  that  Dale  and  me  is  signalers?" 


154  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"And  Captain  Taylor  gave  us  the  signals  to  raise 
the  district :  one  fire  for  feasts,  two  for  help,  three 
for  war!" 

"That's  it,  little  woman.  By  dusk  I'll  be  on  top 
of  the  cliffs,  and  make  my  fires  back  from  the  rim- 
rock,  where  them  robbers  won't  see  the  glare." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ROUND-UP 
Jesse's  Narrative 

WHILE  I  made  signal  fires  on  the  top  of  the 
cliff,  Mr.  Robber  came  to  find  out  from  my 
wife  why  for  I  hadn't  called  to  leave  my  card  at  the 
South  Cave.  He's  picturesque,  says  she,  hair  like  a 
raven's  wing,  eyes  steel-blue,  scarf  indigo  striped 
with  orange,  shirt  black  silk,  woolly  shaps  out  of  a 
Wild  West  show,  gold  and  silver  fixings,  Cheyenne 
saddle,  carbine  of  some  foreign  breed,  or  maybe  a 
Krag,  manners  fit  for  a  king,  age  thirty-four,  height 
six  feet  two  inches,  chest  only  thirty-eight,  and  such 
a  sad  smile — all  of  this  will  be  useful  to  the  police. 

He  tried  all  he  knew  to  get  out  of  being  photo- 
graphed, which  I  wisht  I'd  been  there,  for  it  must 
have  been  plumb  comic,  but  we  all  submits  when 
Kate  gets  after  us.  That  reminds  me  that  if  he 
can't  capture  the  camera  and  plate,  we're  apt  to  be 
burnt  out  by  accident. 

155 


156  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

She  led  him  on  and  made  him  talk.  If  his  boss 
knew  how  much  Kate  has  down  in  her  note-book, 
this  guy  with  the  sad  eyes  would  get  kicked  all 
round  the  pasture.  When  I  axed  if  the  robber 
made  love  to  her,  my  wife  just  laughed,  and  turned 
away,  telling  me  not  to  be  a  fool;  but  the  blush 
came  round  her  neck. 

I  dunno.  Perhaps  it's  my  liver,  so  I'm  taking 
the  only  medicine  I  have,  which  it  tastes  like  lini- 
ment. Is  it  liver,  or  am  I  getting  to  dislike  this 
person? 

II 

So  happens,  while  I  was  writing,  Billy  O'Flynn 
comes  along  with  the  pack  outfit  on  his  way  to 
Sky-line.  He  wanted  to  know  why  I  made  them 
fires,  so  I  explained  I  was  making  a  clearing  up 
thar  for  Kate's  spring  chrysanthemums.  (She  spelt 
that  word,  which  had  me  bogged  down  to  the 
hocks.)  It  may  be  liver,  or  my  squeam  inflamed, 
but  my  mind  ain't  easy,  and  the  Sky-line  folk  may 
think  I'm  only  joshing  with  them  fires. 

I  can't  leave  Kate  to  ride  for  help,  I  ca''.'t  shift 
her,  I  can't  send  Billy  to  the  constf»'_>fe  without 
breaking  my  contract  with  the  Sky-line,  and  I  don't 


THE    ROUND-UP  157 

divulge  nothin'  to  William  O'Flynn,  Esquire,  who 
talks  to  the  moon  rather  than  waste  conversation. 

If  I  make  a  letter  for  Dale,  and  slip  it  into  the 
pauch,  Billy  won't  know,  or  gossip  if  he  happens  to 
meet  in  with  stray  robbers.  I'll  get  him  up  and 
off  by  midnight  to  the  Sky-line,  in  time  for  the  sup- 
per pies,  and  the  boys  will  be  surging  down  to  the 
ferry  before  to-morrow  midnight.  Now  I  must 
make  up  some  lies  to  hasten  Billy's  timid  footsteps 
along  the  path  of  duty. 

Ill 

Billy  hastened  away  at  midnight  to  tell  Dale  that 
pigeon's  milk  is  selling  at  eighty-four  and  three- 
fourths.  He  believes  that  if  he  can  get  that  secret 
intelligence  to  Iron  in  good  time,  he's  to  share  the 
profits.  Fact  is,  that  Iron's  late  wife  made  him  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  plains  over  some  joke  she  put 
up  on  him  connected  with  pigeon's  milk,  so  that 
Billy's  share  of  the  profits  will  be  delivered  on  the 
toe  of  Dale's  boot.  He's  breaking  records  to  make 
the  Sky-line  quick. 

Nothing  happened  this  morning,  except  Bull  Dur- 
ham, calling  himself  Brooke.     He,  the  gent  with  the 


158  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

sad  eyes,  who  came  to  make  love  to  my  wife.  He 
paid  me  one  hundred  dollars  for  pasturage.  Then 
I  axed  him  to  stay  dinner,  and  Kate  says  she  never 
seen  me  so  talkative.  Bull  found  out  which  weeks 
the  Cariboo  stage  carries  specie,  and  how  many 
thousand  dollars  a  month  in  amalgam  comes  down 
from  the  Sky-line  camp.  He  even  dragged  out  of 
me  that  old  Surly  Brown,  the  miser,  has  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  buried  under  the  dirt  floor  of  his 
cabin — which  reminds  me  that  if  Brown's  home  be- 
comes the  scene  of  a  mining  stampede,  I'll  have  to 
keep  shy  of  his  rifle.  I  owned  up  that  our  provincial 
constable  is  in  bed  with  the  mumps  at  Alexandria — 
temperature  of  a  hundred  and  six  in  the  shade.  I 
sort  of  hinted  that  he  was  prejudiced  agin  me  for 
belonging  to  the  Society  for  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals,  and  because  I  was  suspected  of  adopting 
poor,  dumb,  driven  cattle  which  had  happened  to 
stray  within  range  of  my  branding-iron.  He  even 
learned  I'd  rode  for  the  Lightning  outfit,  and  from 
this  jumps  on  to  the  conclusion  I  must  have  be- 
longed once  to  the  Tonto  gang  of  outlaws.  This 
might  account  for  me  being  hid  up  here  in  the 
British  possessions.  Our  mutual  acquaintance,  even 
at  Abilene,  was  all  candidates  for  the  gallows,  or 


THE    ROUND-UP  159 

such  of  the  dear  departed  as  had  been  invited  to 
the  hereafter  by  Judge  Lynch.  Yes,  he  showed  a 
great  gift  of  faith,  and  got  both  his  photo  and  the 
negative  to  show  there  was  no  ill  feeling.  I'm 
pastoral,  harmless,  simple,  raised  for  a  pet. 

Leaving  Kate  hid  in  a  ruined  shack,  half-way  to 
the  ferry,  I  was  down  by  eleven  P.  M.  to  the  bank  of 
the  river,  hailing  old  man  Brown.  So  soon  as  he'd 
brung  me  acrost,  I  sent  him  to  ride  for  all  he  was 
worth  and  collect  our  constable,  which  cost  me  eight- 
een dollars  and  a  horse.  The  money  is  severe,  but 
I'll  get  even  on  horse  trades. 

From  midnight  to  one  A.  M.  I  put  in  the  time  cuss- 
ing Dale ;  from  then  till  two  A.  M.  I  felt  that  nobody 
loved  me;  from  two  A.  M.  to  half  past,  I  was 
scheming  to  take  the  robbers  single-handed.  At 
two  thirty-five  Dale  rolled  up  with  nine  men  from 
Sky-line,  mounted  on  Billy's  ponies,  besides 
O'Flynn,  and  Ransome  Pollock,  who  may  be  good 
for  a  burnt  offering  but  ain't  much  use  alive. 

Of  course,  having  raised  the  country,  I'd  got  to 
make  good,  producing  a  business  proposition  and 
robbers  to  follow.  Iron  has  no  sense  of  humor  any- 
how, and  can't  see  jokes  unless  the  prices  Is  wrote 
plain  on  their  tickets.     He's  come  to  this  earth  after 


i6o  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

dollars.  If  a  batch  of  robbers  is  liable  to  cost  him 
fifty  dollars  a  day,  and  only  fetches  fifty-one  dol- 
lars a  day  on  the  contract,  his  mine  is  better  money, 
so  he  rolls  his  tail  and  takes  away  his  men.  That's 
Iron  Dale  seven  days  in  the  week. 

He's  right  smart,  too,  at  holding  a  business  meet- 
ing, so  when  I'd  ate  cranberry  pie,  which  is  a  sort  of 
compliment  from  the  mine,  and  the  boys  has  some 
of  Brown's  tea  as  a  donation  from  me,  the  conven- 
tion sits  down  solemn  to  talk  robbers. 

Moved  and  seconded  that  hold-ups  ain't  encour- 
aged in  her  majesty's  dominions,  and  we  hands 
these  robbers  to  the  constable  as  his  lawful  meat, 
but  we  got  to  get  'em  first. 

Resolved  that  there's  money  in  it.  The  owners 
of  them  cattle  had  ought  to  be  grateful  and  show 
their  gratitude,  'cause  otherwise  the  stock  is  apt  to 
scatter.  Proposed  that  we  hit  the  trail  right  away, 
with  Iron  Dale  for  leader.  Carried,  with  symptoms 
of  toothache  disabling  one  of  his  men. 

Dale  told  off  O'Flynn  and  Branscombe  to  stam- 
pede the  cattle  just  at  glint  of  dawn,  sending  'em 
past  the  cave,  and  shooting  and  yelling  as  if  there 
was  no  hereafter.  That  should  interest  the  robbers, 
and  bring  them  out  of  the  cave  which  overlooks  our 


THE    ROUND-UP  i6i 

pasture.  Looking  down  at  a  sharp  angle,  they 
weren't  likely  to  hit  our  riders,  whereas  our  posse, 
posted  in  good  cover  with  a  steady  aim,  could  attend 
to  the  robbers  with  promptness  and  despatch. 

Crossing  the  ferry  our  main  outfit  left  Billy  and 
Branscombe  to  start  drifting  the  cattle  southward, 
while  we  rode  on  to  take  up  our  positions  around  the 
cave.  With  dawn  coming  on,  and  Kate  alone  in 
that  shack,  I  wanted  the  boys  to  gallop,  whereas 
Dale  said  he'd  no  use  for  broken  legs.  The  night 
was  dark  as  a  wolf's  mouth. 

In  the  ruined  shack,  half-way  to  our  home,  Kate 
was  to  have  a  candle,  screened  so  that  it  could  only 
be  seen  from  our  trail.  As  soon  as  we  rose  the 
edge  of  the  bench,  and  a  mile  before  we  would  reach 
the  shack,  I  seen  the  candle  and  knew  that  she  was 
safe.  We  passed  my  fence,  we  crossed  the  half- 
mile  creek,  we  gathered  speed  along  the  open  pas- 
ture, and  then  Kate's  yell  went  through  me  like  a 
knife.  The  robbers  must  have  had  a  man  on  night 
herd,  and  found  her  by  that  light ! 

Dale's  hand  grabbed  my  rein,  and  with  a  growl 
he  halted  our  whole  outfit.  "Steady,"  says  he,  "you 
fool !"  Then  in  a  whisper,  as  his  men  came  crowd- 
ing in:    "Dismount!    Ransome,  hold  horses!     Sam, 


162  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

take  three  men  afoot  round  the  rear  of  that  cabin. 
I  take  the  rest  to  close  in  the  front.  Siwash,  and 
Nitchie  Scott,  find  enemy's  horses  and  drift  them 
away  out  of  reach.  No  man  to  whisper,  no  man  to 
make  a  sound,  until  I  lift  my  hand  at  that  cabin 
window.  After  that,  kill  any  man  who  tries  to  es- 
cape.    Get  a  move  on !" 

So,  with  me  at  his  tail,  he  crept  along  from  cover 
to  cover,  waving  hand  signals  to  throw  his  squad 
into  place.  The  enemy's  five  horses  at  the  door  were 
led  off  by  Billy's  Siwash  arriero,  and  Nitchie  Scott, 
so  gently  that  the  robbers  thought  they  were  graz- 
ing. By  that  time  Dale  and  me  was  at  the  window 
gap  on  the  north  side  of  the  shack,  but  the  candle 
was  in  our  way,  we  couldn't  see  through  its  glow, 
and  it  wasn't  till  we  got  round  to  the  door  hole  that 
we'd  a  view  of  what  was  going  on  inside. 

My  wife  stood  in  the  nor'west,  right,  far  corner. 
A  man  with  a  gray  chin  whisker  and  a  mournful 
smile,  with  his  gun  muzzle  in  her  right  ear,  was 
shoving  her  head  against  the  wall.  Bull  was  talking 
as  usual,  explaining  how  his  tact  was  better'n 
Whiskers'  gun  at  persuading  females.  Ginger  was 
trying  to  assuage  Bull.    The  greaser  was  keeping 


THE    ROUND-UP  163- 

a  kind  of  lookout,  although  he  couldn't  see  from  the 
lighted  room  into  the  dark  where  we  was.  Ginger 
clapped  his  paws  over  Bull's  mouth  before  the  pro- 
ceedings went  on. 

"Now,"  says  Whiskers  sadly,  "are  you  goin'  to 
scream  any  more?" 

Kate's  face  was  dead  white  with  rage.  "You  cur," 
said  she,  "I  screamed  because  my — you're  hurting 
me,  you  brute !  Leave  off  if  you  want  to  hear  one 
word  from  me.  Leave  off!  That's  better.  No,  I 
won't  scream  again." 

The  gun  sight  was  tearing  her  ear  as  she  screwed 
her  head  around,  looking  him  full  in  the  eyes.  "If 
you  do  me  any  harm,"  she  said,  "my  husband's 
friends  won't  let  you  off  with  death.  They'll  burn 
you.     Stand  back,  you  coward  !" 

He  flinched  back  just  a  little,  and  I  saw  his  hand 
drawing  slowly  clear  of  her  head. 

"Get  your  horses,"  she  cried  out  sharp,  "you've 
barely  time  to  escape!" 

Then  I  fired,  the  bullet  throwing  that  hand  back, 
so  that  it  contracted  on  the  gun.  His  revolver  shot 
went  through  the  rear  wall.    The  hand  was  spoiled. 

"Now,    hands    up,    all    of    you!"    Dale    yelled. 


i64  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Hands  up  !  Drop  your  guns !"  One  of  the  robbers 
was  raising  his  gun  to  fire,  so  I  had  to  kill  him.  The 
rest  surrendered. 

"Kate,"  said  I,  sort  of  quiet,  and  she  came  to  me. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THK  STAMPEDE 

Jesse's  Narrative 

BEING  married  to  a  Jtidy,  and  full  of  dumb 
yearning's  for  reforni,  I  axed  Dale  when  he 
was  down  to  Vancouver  to  dicker  for  a  book  on  eti- 
quette. Deportment  for  Gents  beii;g  threw  at  a 
policeman  and  soiled,  Dale  only  paid  i?ix  bits;  but 
I  tossed  him  double  or  quits,  and  come  oat  all  right 
As  to  the  book,  it's  wrote  mighty  high  afid  severe 
by  Professor  Aaron  E.  Honeypott,  but  when  I  tried 
some  on  my  wife  she  laughed  so  she  rolled  on  the 
floor.  I  know  now  that  when  I  sweats  at  a  dance 
I'm  not  to  hang  my  collar  on  the  chandileer,  or 
press  bottled  beer  on  my  partner.  If  ever  I  get  to 
a  town  I'm  to  take  the  outside  of  the  sidewalk,  wipe 
my  gums  on  the  mat,  and  wash  before  I  use  them 
roller  towels.  But  it  doesn't  say  when  I'm  to  wear 
my  boots  inside  my  pants,  or  how  old  Honeypot* 
chews  without  having  to  spit,  or  what  to  say  whecv 
Jones  kicks  me  in  the  morning,  or  in  deadfall  linl- 

165 


166  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

ber,  or  when  a  bear  dislikes  me,  or  any  unusual  acci- 
dent in  this  vale  of  tears;  and  there  ain't  one  word 
about  robbers. 

!  Which  these  robbers  we  got  In  the  cave  is  a  dis- 
appointment. This  old  man  what  leads  them  with  a 
plume  on  his  face,  ought  to  have  more  deportment, 
for  screwing  a  gun  in  Kate's  ear  ain't  no  sort  of 
manners.  Even  after  I'd  shot  his  hand  to  chips,  he 
grabbed  Ransome's  gun  with  his  left  and  tried  to 
make  me  lie  down.  There's  some  folks  jest  don't 
know  when  you  give  them  a  hint. 

And  Bull,  with  the  sad  eyes,  ought  to  comport 
himself  around  like  a  Honeypott,  seeing  the  way  he 
was  raised,  and  how  he  claims  on  me  his  ancient 
friendship.  While  we  lashed  his  thumbs  behind 
him,  he  told  us  he'd  been  educated  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge. 

"What!"  Kate  flashed  out,  "after  leaving  Eton 
and  Harrow?" 

"Yes,  and  I've  enough  education  to  guess  this 
ain't  no  way  to  treat  American  citizens.  You'll  hear 
of  this,"  he  shouted,  "from  Uncle  Sam!" 

"Thar,"  says  Dale,  "I  knew  there'd  be  rewards 
for  you,  dead  or  alive.  How  much  ?  Two  thousand 
dollars  a  head?" 


THE    STAMPEDE  167 

Then  old  Whiskers  ordered  this  Bull  to  shut  his 
head.  He's  a  curious,  slow,  mournful  voice,  like  a 
cat  with  the  toothache. 

"I  demand—" 

"Shut  up."  j 

So  Bull  shut  up  while  we  lashed  him,  likewise 
young  Ginger  and  the  greaser.  Seeing  the  fellow 
I'd  killed  might  want  an  inquest,  we  laid  him 
straight  in  the  ruined  shack,  and  then  marched  our 
prisoners  off  to  South  Cave,  where  they'll  wait  until 
we  get  our  constable  to  arrest  them. 

II 

Now  on  the  second  day  after  we  captures  these 
ladrones,  along  toward  supper,  the  depositions  of 
the  various  parties  is  as  follows,  viz. : 

Up  to  the  ruined  shack  two  mile  north  of  my 
home,  lies  the  remains  of  one  robber  expecting  an 
inquest.  Two  miles  south,  right  where  the  upper 
cliff  cuts  off  the  end  of  our  pasture,  there's  our  cave 
full  of  captured  bandits,  to  wit;  Whiskers,  Bull' 
Durham,  Ginger,  and  the  dago.  Down  on  the' 
bench  in  front  of  the  cave  is  our  guard-camp  with 
Iron  Dale  in  command,  and  Kate  with  the  boys  hav- 
ing supper.     Right  home  at  the  ranch  house  is  me 


i68  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

finishing  my  chores,  and  the  widow  spoiling  hash 
for  my  supper,  because  she  hates  me  worse  nor 
snakes  for  being  a  Protestant.  Away  off  beyond 
the  horizon  is  old  man  Brown  cussing  blue  streaks 
'cause  he  can't  find  much  constable. 

Such  being  the  combinations  at  supper-time,  along 
comes  the  widow's  orphan,  young  Billy  O'Flynn, 
who  handles  my  pack  contract  with  the  Sky-line. 
He's  supposed  to  be  on  duty  at  the  guard-camp,  and 
his  riding  back  to  the  home  ranch  completely  dis- 
arranges the  landscape.  I'm  busy,  hungry,  and  ex- 
pected to  take  charge  of  the  night  guard  at  the  cave, 
but  somehow  this  Billy  attracts  my  attention  by  act- 
ing a  whole  lot  suspicious.  Instead  of  bringing  me 
some  message  from  Dale,  he  rides  straight  to  the 
lean-to  kitchen,  steps  off  his  pony,  and  whispers  for 
his  mother.  I  sneaks  through  the  house  to  the 
kitchen  in  time  to  see  this  widow  with  a  slip  of 
paper,  brown  paper  what  we  used  to  wrap  up  the 
.prisoners'  lunch.  At  sight  of  me  she  gets  modest, 
shoving  it  Into  the  stove,  but  I  becomes  prominent, 
and  grabs  it.  "Shure,"  she  explains,  "an'  it's  only 
a  schlip  av  paper!" 

Seems  to  be  scratches  on  the  smooth  side  of  this 
paper,  sort  of  reminding  me  that  Bull  has  a  fountain- 


THE    STAMPEDE  169 

pen  sticking  out  of  his  vest  pocket.  If  he's  been 
writing  with  milk,  I'd  warm  the  paper — but  no,  we 
use  canned  milk,  and  haven't  got  any  either.  I've 
heard  faintly  somewheres  of  things  wrote  In  spittle, 
so  I  pours  on  a  bottle  of  ink,  and  rinses  the  paper  in 
the  water-butt.  Yes,  there's  the  message  plain  as 
print. 

"Gun  to  hand,  but  cartridges  wrong  size,  no  good. 
Get  .45.  Billy  to  wait  with  ponies  under  nearest 
pine  N.  of  cave,  when  plough  above  N.  Star.  Send 
more  gum  for  chief's  wound. — Bull." 

Billy  was  mounting  at  the  door  to  put  out  for 
solitude,  but  since  he  knows  I  can't  miss  under  two 
hundred  yards,  he  was  persuaded  to  come  into  the 
cabin.  There  I  read  him  some  of  the  etiquette  about 
keeping  his  temper,  and  not  using  coarse  language. 
Also  I  told  him  politely  what  I  thought  of  him,  and 
where  he'll  go  when  he  dies.  He  waited,  stroking 
the  little  fur  on  his  muzzle,  till  I  got  through,  look- 
ing so  damned  patient  with  me  that  I  came  near 
handing  him  one  In  the  eye. 

"You  invited  these  robbers  to  my  grass?" 

He  nodded. 


I70  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Thanks  to  you,  my  wife  had  a  gun  muzzle 
screwed  round  in  her  ear." 

"Bet  she  squinted  !"  said  Billy. 

If  I  lose  my  temper,  I  can't  shoot,  and  Billy  knew 
that  well.  "She's  up  agin  it  good  and  hard,"  said 
he. 

"Agin  what?" 

**Making  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear." 

"You  lop-eared,  mangy,  pig-faced,  herring- 
gutted  son  of  a  — " 

"From  the  Etiquette?"  asked  Billy.  "I  don' 
think  much  of  you,  anyway.  Mother  ain't  got  no  use 
for  you  either,  or  any  of  the  neighbors,  you  old  cow 
thief!" 

Now  if  Billy  talked  so  big  as  all  that,  it  must  be 
to  astonish  his  mother.  So  she  must  be  at  the  key- 
hole, and  sure  enough  I  heard  her  grind  her  stump 
with  the  backache  from  stooping  down.  Happens 
Mrs.  Smith  has  a  garden  squirt  which  it  holds  a 
gallon,  so  while  I  kep'  young  Billy  interested  with 
patches  of  etiquette,  I  took  off  the  rose,  filled  the 
squirt,  and  let  drive  through  the  key-hole  into  the 
widow's  ear.  At  that  she  lifted  up  her  voice  and 
wept. 

Feeling    better,     I     resumed    the    conversation. 


THE    STAMPEDE  171 

"Billy,"  sez  I,  smooth  as  cream,  while  I  filled  the 
squirt,  "on  the  shelf  there  you'll  find  a  little  small 
bottle."  In  my  dim  way  I  aimed  to  get  him  excited, 
and  talkative,  divulging  secrets  with  all  his  heart. 
Then  afterward  I'd  like  him  asleep,  out  of  mischief. 

"Get  your  bottle  yourself,"  says  he,  sort  of  defiant,' 
so  I  let  drive  at  him  with  the  squirt. 

"If  you  please,"  said  I,  and  he  got  the  bottle  all 
right. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  I,  "will  you  just  draw 
the  cork?" 

"Andif  I  won't?" 

I  took  my  squirt  and  watched  him  pull  the  cork. 

"Thank  you,"  sez  I,  seeing  how  beautiful  is  the 
uses  of  true  politeness.  "Now  may  I  trouble  you  to 
spill  what's  left  in  the  bottle  into  that  there  goblet? 
Now  be  so  kind." 

"I  refuse!" 

The  squirt  won't  scare  any  more  Billy,  so  I  exhib- 
its my  gun. 

"I  regrets  to  remark,  Mr.  O'Flynn,  that  this  gun 
acts  sort  of  sudden." 

"Shoot,  and  you  go  to  jail !" 

"But  first,  my  dear  young  friend,  I've  time  to  lop 
off  a  few  fingers,  one  at  a  time — won't  miss  them  all 


172  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

at  once.  May  I  request  you  to  pour  out  the  medi- 
cine ?  No — not  on  the  floor,  please,  but  into  the  gob- 
let, while  I  observe  that  your  right  thumb  seems 
tender  after  that  cut,  and  ought  to  be  treated.  So, 
a  little  more.  That's  right.  Now  honor  me  by  add- 
ing a  little  water  from  the  pitcher.  Thank  you. 
Thumb  feeling  easier?  Well,  that  there  laudanum 
soothes  the  fractious  infant,  and  causes  a  whole 
lot  of  repose.  Quite  sweet  without  sugar.  Yes, 
please,  you'll  lift  the  goblet  to  your  mouth  while  I 
watch  that  nothing  goes  wrong  with  your  pug  nose. 
You  want  to  throw  back  your  head,  you  treacherous 
swine.  Drink,  or  I'll  splash  your  brains  on  the 
floor!" 

"I  daren't!     It's  poison!" 

"It's  bullets— you'd  better!  Drink,  or  I'll  kill 
you!  Drink!  One — two — much  obliged,  I'm  sure. 
Hope  you'll  sleep  well." 

"Curse  you !"  he  shrieked,  and  flung  the  glass  at 
my  head. 

Then  down  came  the  widow  like  a  landslide.  She 
scratched  my  face,  confessed  my  sins,  sobbed  over 
her  darling  Billy  avick,  prescribed  for  my  future, 
wrung  her  wet  frock,  and  made  a  soap  emetic  for 
her  offspring  all  at  once.     It's  a  sure  fact  that  widow 


THE    STAMPEDE  173 

was  plenty  busy,  and  what  with  slinging  that  emetic 
at  the  patient,  and  gently  introducing  the  lady  to  the 
kitchen  cupboard,  wall,  I  declare  I  didn't  have  a 
dull  moment.  Then  distant  shots  brought  us  up  all 
standing. 

"At  last!"  Billy  shouted,  "they're  off!" 

"Who's  off?" 

"Father  and  his  men — escaped  while  I  kep'  you 
In  talk.  Fooled,  Jesse!  Fooled!  I  fooled  you 
to  the  eyes!  My  father's  Larry  O'Flynn,  Captain 
Larry  O'Flynn,  captain  of  the  outlaws !"  My,  there 
was  pride  in  the  lad!  He  sat  on  the  table  in  the 
dusk,  fighting  to  keep  awake,  rubbing  his  eyes  with 
his  sleeve.  "He's  give  me  leave  to  join,  and  Fm 
hitting  the  trail  to-night — hitting  the  trail,  d'ye 
hear?"  His  eyes  closed,  his  voice  trailed  off  to  a 
whisper,  and  then  once  more  he  roused.  "Fm  a 
wolf!"  he  howled.  "I  come  from  Bitter  Creek! 
The  higher  up,  the  worse  the  waters,  and  Fm  from 
the  source!  Robbery-under-arms,  and  don't  you 
forget  it,  Mister  Jesse  Smith!"  He  rocked  from 
side  to  side,  gripping  hard  at  the  table^  muttering 
threats. 

Outside  I  could  hear  a  rider  coming  swift,  and 
Dale's  voice  hailing,  "Jesse!     Jesse!" 


174  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Jesse,"  the  lad  was  muttering,  "lift  his  stock,  and 
his  woman,  burn  his  ranch,  and  put  his  fires  out — ■ 
thatsh  the  way  to — " 

Dale  had  stepped  from  his  horse,  and  stood  in  the 
doorway,  making  it  dark  inside.  "Where  in  blazes 
are  you?" 

"Look,"  said  I,  and  Dale  watched,  for  the  boy, 
dead  pale,  was  lurching  from  side  to  side,  his  eyes 
closed,  his  lips  still  moving. 

"Only  drugged,"  said  I.  "Who  let  them  robbers 
escape?" 

"Ransome  Pollock,"  said  Dale. 

"Who  else?" 

"Dave." 

"How's  his  poor  tooth?"  says  I,  and  Dale  ex- 
plained he'd  been  clubbed. 

Young  O'Flynn  rolled  over,  and  went  down 
smash,  so  that  I  had  to  kneel,  and  try  if  his  heart 
was  all  right.  It  thumped  along  steady  and  give  no 
sign  of  quitting. 

"I  had  to,"  said  I,  "old  Whiskers  yonder  is  the 
widow's  husband,  and  father  to  this  boy.  He's  clear 
grit,  Iron." 

"Where's  the  widow?" 


THE    STAMPEDE  175 

"Resting."  I  heard  horses  come  thundering  out 
of  the  dusk.     "Robbers  broke  south?" 

"Yep." 

"Hev  they  grow'd  wings?" 

"Nope." 

"Can't  swim  the  Eraser?" 

"Bottled?"  said  he,  cheering  up. 

"Some,"  says  I.  "Not  corked  yet.  You  want  to 
make  a  line  here  quick,  from  the  foot  of  the  upper 
cliff  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  and  each  man  make 
three  big  fires.  Then  post  half  your  men  to  tend 
fires,  and  the  best  shots  to  hold  that  line  with  rifles. 
Them  robbers  has  got  to  break  through  when  they 
knows  they're  cornered.  Here's  your  boys,  Iron. 
Git  a  move  on !" 

"That's  so,"  says  Dale,  and  in  two  shakes  of  a 
duck's  tail  he  was  throwing  his  men  into  line.  Seems 
that  some  of  the  boys  rode  the  robbers'  horses,  and 
the  rest  were  bareback  on  my  pack-ponies,  so  Kate 
had  a  fine  gallop  home  with  the  mob.  But  when  she 
saw  what  I'd  prescribed  for  Billy's  symptoms,  she 
wasn't  pleased,  and  by  the  time  she'd  made  herself 
content,  I  had  to  be  off  on  duty.  Meanwhile  the 
widow,  wild  and  lone,  had  flew;  so  that  left  Kate 


176  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

without  help,  her  job  being  coffee  to  keep  the  boys 
awake  till  we'd  daylight  to  corner  the  robbers. 

Men  watching  on  a  strain  like  that  get  scary  as 
cats,  so  by  moonset  some  of  our  warriors  would 
loose  off  guns  at  stumps,  trees,  rocks,  or  just  because 
they  felt  lonesome.  After  the  moon  went  down,  dry 
fuel  got  scant,  so  that  the  fires  waned,  and  some  of 
our  young  men  must  have  seen  millions  of  outlaws. 
When  at  last  something  actually  happened,  it  was 
natural  that  Ransome  should  have  adventures.  He 
wasn't  built  for  solitude,  and  when  he  seen  a  flag 
wave  from  behind  a  bush,  he  called  the  boys  from 
left  and  right  to  bunch  in  and  corroborate.  The  flag 
kep'  waving,  and  presently  two  more  of  our  men  had 
to  join  the  bunch  because  they  couldn't  shout  their 
good  advice,  lest  the  robbers  hear  every  word.  I 
was  away  to  Apex  Rock,  Iron  down  in  the  canon, 
and  these  blasted  idiots  talked. 

Of  course  old  Whiskers  knew  that  antelope  will 
always  creep  up  to  inspect  any  waving  rag.  Before 
the  excitement  was  properly  begun  he  and  his  rob- 
bers slipped  through  our  broken  line. 

If  Ransome  has  time  to  aim  he's  dangerous  to  the 
neighbors,  but  since  the  odds  were  a  thousand  to 


THE    STAMPEDE  177 

one  the  gun  would  kick  him  as  far  as  next  Thurs- 
day, I'd  have  bet  my  debts  he  wouldn't  hit  the  party 
with  that  flag.  Yet  that's  what  happened.  He  got 
the  widow  O'Flynn. 

With  one  heart-rending,  devastating  howl  she 
went  to  grass,  and  she  did  surely  shriek  as  if  there 
was  no  hereafter.  Murthered  in  the  limb  she  was, 
and  as  I  left  to  follow  the  sounds  of  them  escaping 
robbers,  I  didn't  have  time  to  send  a  carpenter. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  UNTRUTHFUL  PRISONER 

Jesse's  Narrative 

WITH  creditors,  women,  robbers,  and  every- 
thing dangerous,  you  want  to  be  chuck  full 
of  deportment,  smooth  as  old  Honeypott,  and  a 
whole  lot  tactful.  Anything  distractful  or  screech- 
ing disturbs  one's  peace  of  mind,  and  sends  one's 
aplomb  to  blazes,  just  when  a  bear  trap  may  happen 
at  any  moment.  I  traveled  for  all  I  was  worth  to 
put  that  widow  behind  me,  and  compose  my  mind. 
Which  her  wolf  howls  was  plumb  deplorable.  It 
wasn't  her  limb.  Indeed,  she  wanted  excuses  for 
a  new  one  ever  since  she  seen  that  table  limb  in 
my  barn.  It  was  her  husband.  Whiskers,  depart- 
ing, desperate  to  get  away  from  her.  And  I  don't 
blame  him.  She  was  an  irreverent  detail  anyhow, 
diminishing  gradual  into  the  night,  for  if  I  let  them 
robbers  once  get  out  of  hearing,  they  couldn't  be 
tracked  till  morning.     The  worst  of  it  was  I'd  no 

178 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER      179 

smell  dog;  my  Mick  being  sick  with  a  cold  and  hot 
fermentations,  had  his  nose  out  of  action.  No, 
the  only  thing  was  to  get  clear  of  the  widow's  con- 
cert, and  keep  in  hearing  while  the  outlaws  traveled. 
I  was  laying  a  trail  of  torn  paper,  mostly  unpaid 
bills,  so  that  the  boys  could  find  which  way  I'd  gone. 

Maybe  I'd  gone  a  mile  before  remorse  gnawed 
Whiskers  because  he'd  abandoned  the  widow.  He 
paused,  and  as  I  came  surging  along,  he  lammed  me 
over  the  head  with  a  gun. 

Yes,  I  was  captured.  They  got  my  gun,  too, 
and  marched  me  along  between  them.  Mr.  Bull, 
he  yapped  like  a  coyote,  full  of  glory's  if  he'd  cap- 
tured me  himself.  What  with  being  clubbed,  and 
not  feeling  good  just  then,  I  didn't  seem  to  be  much 
interested,  although  I  put  up  a  struggle  wherever 
the  ground  was  muddy,  leaving  plenty  tracks  down 
to  the  ferry,  so  that  the  boys  would  know  which  way 
I'd  been  dragged. 

Old  man  Brown  was  away,  but  as  I'd  left  the 
scow  on  the  near  bank,  the  robbers  were  able  to 
cross,  and  put  the  Eraser  between  me  and  rescue. 
That  ought  to  have  cheered  them  up,  since  it  gave 
them  a  start  of  several  hours  toward  safety,  but 
instead  of  skinning  out  of  British  Columbia,  as  I 


i8o  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

advised  them  with  powerful  strong  talk,  they'd  got 
to  stop  for  breakfast  on  old  Brown's  beans  and  sow- 
belly, cussing  most  plenteous  because  he  wasn't  there 
to  cook  hot  biscuits. 

After  breakfast  they  wasted  an  hour  dressing  his 
paw  for  old  Whiskers,  and  wondering  whether 
they'd  waste  one  of  my  cartridges  on  me,  or  keep 
them  all  for  my  friends.  On  that  I  divulged  a  lot 
of  etiquette  out  of  my  book.  I  told  these  misbegotten 
offspring  they'd  been  brung  up  all  wrong,  or  they'd 
have  enough  deportment  to  make  tracks.  "Now," 
says  I,  "in  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave  you  been  appreciated,  whereas  if  you  linger 
here  till  sunup  you'll  be  shot." 

That  made  poor  Whiskers  still  more  suspicious, 
wondering  what  sort  of  bear  traps  guileful  Smith 
was  projecting.  "Wants  to  get  us  up  on  the  bench," 
says  he,  "that  means  ware  traps.  We'll  stay  right 
here,  boys,  for  daylight,  when  we'll  be  able  to  see 
ourselves,  how  to  save  them  cattle," 

"We'd  better  kill  the  prisoner,"  Bull  argues,  and 
this  reminds  me  of  his  ancient  friendship. 

"Shut  your  fool  head,"  says  Whiskers.  "His 
friends  would  rather  us  go  free  than  see  him  killed 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER      i8i 

before  their  eyes.     You've  no  more  brains  than  a 
poached  owl." 

"You're  dead  right,  Whiskers!"  says  I.  "Hair 
on  you !" 

But  he  being  fretful  with  his  wound,  orders  his 
men  to  disable  Brown's  fiddle,  and  lash  me  up  with 
catgut.  Moreover,  when  I  was  trussed,  this  Bull 
seen  fit  to  kick  me  on  the  ofi"  chance,  a  part  which 
ain't  referred  to  in  polite  society,  especially  with  a 
boot. 

"Brave  man !"  says  I,  and  the  rest  of  them  rob- 
bers was  so  shamed  they  got  me  a  gag. 

"Sorry,"  says  I,  "pity  I  won't  be  able  to  guide  you 
to  Brown's  cigars.     He  keeps  a  bottle,  too.*'' 

"Where  are  they?"  says  Bull. 

"Gag  Brooke,"  said  I,  for  Bull  went  by  that  name, 
"and  I'll  divulge  the  drinks." 

"Gag  Brooke,"  says  Whiskers,  cheering  up  a  little, 
"pity  he  weren't  born  gagged." 

So  they  gagged  Mr.  Brooke,  and  mounted  him  on 
sentry  while  they  had  Brown's  bottle  of  whisky  and 
cigars.     I  got  some,  too. 

Of  course  these  or'nary,  no-account,  range  wolves 
reckoned  my  friends  v/ould  wait  for  day  before  they 
attempted  tracking.     Whereas  Dale  got  the  lantern, 


i82  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

found  my  paper  trail,  and  guessed  at  the  ferry.  Be- 
fore we  entered  the  cabin,  I'd  seen  the  glint  of  that 
lantern  behind  the  rim  of  the  bench,  and  I  knew 
our  boys  trusted  me  to  keep  the  robbers  somehow 
down  at  the  ferry-house.  Ginger  and  the  greaser 
lay  down  for  an  hour's  sleep,  Mr.  Brooke,  gagged 
and  not  at  all  pleased,  kep'  guard  at  the  door, 
Whiskers,  since  the  liquor  made  his  wound  worse, 
lurched  groaning  around  the  shack.  At  the  first 
glint  of  dawn,  he  ordered  Bull  to  take  out  the  gag 
and  lie  down,  then  went  to  the  door  himself. 

It's  a  pity  that  Dale,  our  leader,  a  sure  fine  shot, 
has  a  slight  cast  in  his  near  eye,  which  throws  his 
lead  a  little  to  the  right.  That's  why,  when 
Whiskers  went  to  the  door.  Dale's  bullet  only 
whipped  off  his  left  ear.  Instead  of  being  grateful. 
Whiskers  skipped  around  holding  the  side  of  his 
face,  with  remarks  which  for  a  poor  man  was  ex- 
travagant. The  shot  made  Bull  bolt  courageous  be- 
hind the  stove,  to  look  for  a  bandage,  he  said,  while 
Ginger  and  the  greaser  sat  up  on  their  tails  looking 
sort  of  depressed.  Not  one  of  the  four  was  happy 
on  finding  that  they'd  bottled  themselves  in  the  cabin 
instead  of  taking  my  advice  and  clearing  for  the 
States. 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER     183 

"Prisoner,"  say?.  Whiskers,  dolesome,  holding  his 
poor  ear,  "you  can  talk  to  your  friends  acrost  the 
river . 

"Why,  certainly.  Captain." 

"What  way?" 

"Signaling." 

"Then  tell  your  friends  that  if  they  don't  throw 
all  their  guns  into  the  river,  you  die  at  sunrise. 
Have  you  got  religion?" 

"I  didn't  mention,"  says  I,  sort  of  thoughtful, 
"that  any  of  my  friends  can  read  the  signals." 

"Then,"  says  he,  in  that  suicide  manner  he  had, 
"they  won't  get  your  last  sad  words.  Get  them 
weapons  thrown  in  the  river,  or  grab  religion  right 
away,  for  you'll  need  it." 

"Cut  the  catgut,  Colonel" 

So  Ginger  cut  me  free. 

"Show  a  white  flag,  General,"  said  I. 

So  Ginger  waved  a  paper  on  a  stick,  and  Dale  re- 
plied with  a  white  scarf  from  his  neck. 

When  I  walked  out,  the  boys  acrost  the  river  gave 
three  cheers,  but  I  was  halted  from  behind  before 
I'd  got  far  sideways.  "Now,"  says  Whiskers,  "sig- 
nal, and  pray  that  you  won't  be  tempted  to  send 
erroneous  messages." 


'i84  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Remember,"  Bull  shouts,  "I  can  read  Morse.  No 
fooling." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Brooke,"  I  called  back,  "then  I'll 
use  semaphore." 

I  heard  Whiskers  in  tears  directing  his  two 
youngsters  to  put  Mr.  Brooke's  head  in  the  meal 
sack,  and  sit  hard  on  top.  So  I  began  to  signal, 
explaining  each  word  to  Whiskers, 

Swifu.     "That,"  says  I,  "means  'Dale.'  " 

Pool.  "That's  'fool,'  "  says  I,  'because  he  don't 
give  the  answer." 

Below.     "That's  'Hello.'  " 

Rapids.     "That's  'Hello'  again." 

"You  lie,"  says  Whiskers,  miserable,  through  his 
teeth.     "You  made  six  letters." 

"Sorry,"  says  I,  "it  got  spelt  wrong  first  time." 

Float.  "That's  'skunk,'  "  says  I,  "because  he's 
a  polecat  not  to  answer  me." 

Gtms. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Whiskers,  heaps  suspicious 
because  I  couldn't  think  of  another  word  of  four  let- 
ters.   "Hell!"  says  I. 

"Quite  right,"  sighed  Whiskers,  "to  think  of  your 
future  home." 

Dale  signaled,  Coming. 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER      185 

"Says  he's  ready  for  the  Epistle  and  Gospel  now. 
Spit  it  out,  Whiskers." 

"Tell  him  to  throw  his  guns  in  the  river,  or  I'll 
shoot  prisoner.  And  what's  more,  young  man,  you 
don't  want  to  call  me  Whiskers." 

I  wagged  all  that,  word  for  word,  as  far  as  "Whis- 
kers," and  when  the  boys  were  through  laughing, 
Dale  asked  if  the  robbers  were  serious. 

I  explained  to  the  general  that  Dale  wouldn't  wet 
good  guns  to  please  a  lot  of — 

"Lot  of  what?" 

"Terms  of  endearment,"  says  I,  "which  I  blushes 
for  Dale's  morals." 

Dale  signaled,  Keep  your  tail  up. 

"Well,  General,"  says  I,  "without  being  able  to 
read  him  exact,  I  guess  Dale  ain't  drawing  his  men 
off  along  the  bank  with  your  outfit  to  shoot  them  like 
rabbits  the  moment  they  quit  cover." 

"Tell  Dale,"  said  Whiskers  in  his  tired  voice,  "he 
needn't  trouble  to  take  his  men  along  the  bank  to 
whar  they  can  swim  the  river.     Now  if  you  had  re- 
igion — 

I  could  have  choked  with  grief. 

"Tell  Dale,"  says  Whiskers,  and  his  bereaved 
voice  kind  of  jarred  me  now,  "we're  just  goin'  to 


i86  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

keep  a  gun  at  your  ear-hole  while  we  march  up  the 
trail.  If  Dale's  men  fire,  your  wife  will  be  a  widow, 
Mr.  Smith." 

At  that  I  wagged  my  arms  and  ignaled.    No  call 
to  get  wet.  Hold-ups  marching  to  Georgia.  Kill  man 
with  gun.  If  you  miss,  ware  Widow  Smith.  You  see 
•if  Dale  squinted  and  missed,  my  widow  was  apt  to 
reproach.   So  I  added,  Allow  windage  for  squint. 
Dale  answered,  You  bet  your  life  I  will. 
Then  I  swung  round  facing  the  cabin,  and  saw  the 
barrel  of  my  own  revolver  just  peering  round  the 
door.     By  its  height  from  the  ground  I  judged  that 
poor  young  Ginger  was  the  artist.     I  wished  it  had 
been  Bull,  for  I'd  taken  a  fancy  to  Ginger. 

"Well,  gents,"  says  I,  "yonr  umbrellas  is  in  the 
hat  rack.  All  aboard  for  Robbers'  Roost,  and  don't 
forget  the  lunch." 

Talking  encourages  me,  and  It  seemed  even  betting 
whether  me  or  Ginger  was  booked  right  through  to 
glory.  Yes,  I  talked  to  gain  time  for  Ginger,  and 
for  me  a  little,  even  persuading  the  robbers  to  take 
no  risks.  I  forgot  how  them  sort  of  cattle  drives  by 
contraries,  I  only  set  their  minds  on  coming,  and 
heard  their  boss  give  orders. 

He  wanted  me  Into  the  cabin,  but  I'd  taken  a  dis- 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER      187 

like  to  catgut,  so  Ginger  got  orders  to  shoot  me.  At 
that  I  flared  up.  "Shoot,"  says  I,  "you  skulking 
cowards,  scared  to  show  your  noses  at  the  door. 
Hold  your  off  ear,  Whiskers.    Charge,  you  curs !" 

The  chief  came  first,  straight  at  me,  and  seemed  to 
climb  over  my  foot  on  to  his  nose.  Mr.  Bull  Brooke 
got  hurt  on  the  nose  too,  and  I'd  just  time  to  hand 
the  greaser  a  left  hander  behind  the  ear,  before  I 
went  down  on  top  of  Whiskers,  and  the  four  of  us 
rolled  in  a  heap.  I  learned  when  I  was  a  sailor  how 
to  argue. 

Then  I  struggled,  dragging  my  pile  of  robbers  off 
sideways,  so  that  to  keep  me  covered  with  the  gun, 
poor  Ginger  showed  his  red  head  in  the  doorway. 
It  was  his  life  or  mine,  yet  when  the  shot  rang  out 
from  across  the  river,  and  I  saw  the  lad  come  crash- 
ing to  the  ground,  I  felt  sort  of  sick.  Of  course  that 
shot  slacked  the  grip  of  the  three  robbers,  so  I 
wrenched  loose,  struck  hard,  and  jumped  high,  gain- 
ing the  north  wall  of  the  cabin.  When  I  turned 
round,  our  boys  across  the  river  were  pouring  hot 
lead  after  the  robbers  as  they  dived  through  the  door 
of  the  shack.  Ginger  sprawled  dead  on  the  door- 
step, and  my  gun,  six  paces  off,  lay  in  the  dust.  The 
robbers  were  disarmed,  and  I  was  free. 


1 88  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Boys,"  I  called  out  to  them,  "you  done  like  men. 
You  put  up  a  good  fight  and  it  ain't  no  shame  to  sur- 
render." 

Mr.  Bull  Brooke's  voice  answered. 

"Jesse,  old  friend!" 

I  heard  a  crash  inside  and  guessed  that  Mr. 
Brooke  had  been  discouraged. 

"Whiskers,"  I  called,  "don't  make  a  mess  of  that 
cabin  with  Mr.  Brooke." 

"All  right,  young  fellow,"  said  Whiskers,  "we've 
only  put  him  back  in  the  flour  sack." 

He  spoke  quite  cheerful. 

"Say,  Whiskers,"  I  called,  "I  want  to  save  your 
lives,  you  and  the  greaser.  Come  and  throw  up  your 
hands  before  you're  hurt." 

There  was  no  answer.  Rocky  Mountain  outlaws 
may  be  mean  and  bad,  but  they  fight  like  Americans, 
and  they  know  how  to  die.  I'd  only  one  way  left  to 
force  their  surrender,  and  save  their  lives,  so  I  hus- 
tled brushwood,  cord-wood,  coal-oil  from  the  shed, 
piled  up  the  fuel,  and  got  a  sulphur  match  from  the 
bunch  in  my  hind  pocket. 

"Boys,"  I  called,  "Old  Brown  sort  of  values  this 
place.  It's  all  the  home  he's  got,  and  it  ain't  in- 
sured." 


THE    UNTRUTHFUL    PRISONER      189 

No  answer. 

The  little  flame  lep'  up  and  caught  the  brush- 
wood, the  crackling  lifted  to  a  roar,  and  the  robbers 
must  surely  know  that  their  time  was  come,  for  if 
they  showed  at  the  door  they  would  be  shot.  I 
grabbed  my  gun  from  the  ground  and  ran  to  the 
doorway  to  stop  our  boys  from  firing.  Then  I 
shouted  above  the  noise  of  the  flames,  "Come  out  and 
throw  up  your  hands  !" 

They  came,  poor  fellows,  and  I  made  them  pris- 
oners, marching  them  down  to  the  ferry. 


CHAPTER  X 

BREAKING  TPIE  STATUTES 

Kate's  Narrative 

AT  Hundred  Mile  House  the  long  table 
had  been  removed  from  the  dining  hall,  the 
benches  set  back  to  the  log  walls,  and  at  the  head  of 
the  room  an  enormous  Union  Jack  draped  a  very 
small  portrait  of  Queen  Victoria.  Beneath  was  the 
chair,  in  front  of  it  a  table  set  with  writing  materials 
and  the  Bible,  while  at  one  end  the  schoolma'am 
looked  very  self-conscious  as  clerk,  in  official  black, 
with  large  red  bows  like  signals  of  distress. 

On  the  right  sat  Iron  Dale,  Jesse,  and  myself,  and 
all  our  posse,  very  ill  at  ease.  On  the  left  were  two 
gaunt  American  stockmen,  both  wearing  hats,  while 
one  had  the  star  of  a  United  States  marshal.  Be- 
side them  sat  the  general  public,  consisting  of  Tear- 
ful George,  two  ranch-hands,  an  Indian,  and  the 
captain's  bulldog.  Wee  James,  the  captain's  grand- 
son, sat  with  the  dog  at  first,  but  presently  he  inter- 

190 


BREAKING    THE    STATUTES         191 

rupted  the  court  to  say  that  he  would  like  to  sit  on 
me.  He  sat  with  considerable  '  ight  for  so  small  a 
person. 

At  Captain  Taylor's  entrance  the  constable  or- 
dered us  all  to  stand.  Every  inch  a  naval  officer, 
bluff,  ruddy,  cheery,  choleric,  frightfully  impres- 
sive in  a  frock  coat,  he  wore  a  Russian  order  slung 
by  a  ribbon  at  his  throat,  and  a  little  row  of  minia- 
ture war  medals,  the  ribbons,  alas,  too  small  to  show 
me  of  which  campaigns.  At  sight  of  the  two  stran- 
gers he  mounted  a  single  eye-glass,  and  stared  with 
growing  wrath  until  they  removed  their  hats.  Then, 
taking  the  chair,  he  permitted  us  to  be  seated  and 
ordered  his  constable  to  "Bring  the  prisoners  aft." 

Had  our  captives  been  washed  and  brushed,  they 
might  not  have  looked  so  wretched  or  so  guilty.  Old 
O'Flynn,  described  by  Jesse  as  Whiskers,  with  his 
head  in  a  blood-stained  bandage,  his  right  hand  in 
a  gory  handkerchief,  looked  so  ill  that  he  was  given 
a  seat.  The  Mexican,  whose  beautiful  leather  dress, 
and  soft  dark  eyes  reminded  me  sharply  of  the  opera- 
house,  seemed  like  a  trapped  wolf,  only  thinking  of 
escape  to  the  nearest  woods.  Bull  Durham's  swag- 
gering gallantry  was  marred  by  obvious  traces  of 
the  flour  sack  wherein  he  had  been  immersed  by  his 


192  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

disgusted  chief,  and  the  shower  of  rain  which  fol- 
lowed. 

"Prisoners,"  said  the  magistrate. 

At  that  moment  the  United  States  marshal  squirt- 
ed tobacco  juice,  adroitly  hitting  a  spittoon  distant 
some  fourteen  feet. 

"Constable,"  said  the  magistrate  austerely,  "re- 
move that  person  until  he  has  washed  his  mouth." 
Every  man  present  had  been  furtively  chewing  to- 
bacco, but  no  one  who  knew  Captain  Taylor  in  his 
official  mood  would  have  presumed  to  spit.  Eveiy 
jaw  became  rigid,  every  eye  looked  reproachfully  at 
the  marshal,  who  rose  protesting  in  stately  sen- 
tences that  he  represented  the  majesty  of  the  people. 

"Take  his  majesty  out,"  said  the  captain  with 
dreadful  calmness,  "and  put  him  under  the  pump." 

The  representative  of  the  stock  associations  rose 
to  support  his  countryman. 

"Clap  them  in  irons,"  said  the  captain.  "I'll  have 
no  spitting  on  my  quarter  deck." 

Jesse  and  Dale  rose  to  assist  the  constable,  and  for 
some  stirring  moments  we  were  threatened  with  in- 
ternational complications.  Then  in  his  quaint  slow 
drawl  my  husband  obtained  leave  to  address  the 
magistrate.     "I  got  an  American  book  right  here," 


BREAKING   THE    STATUTES         193 

said  he,  "in  my  hind  pocket.  It's  called  Deportment 
for  Gents.  In  real  high-toned  society,  this  Honey- 
pott  claims  that  Amurrican  gentlemen  chews,  but 
reserves  the  juice  until  they  happens  on  a  yaller 
dawg.  Then  they  assists  that  dawg  with  his  com- 
plexion." 

The  marshal  stooped  to  pet  the  captain's  bulldog. 

"I'd  help  this  yaller  purp,"  said  he,  with  a  grave 
smile,  "if  I'd  thicker  pants." 

The  captain  chuckled  and  the  case  went  on,  our 
visitors  having  "allowed  that  they  didn't  propose 
to  chew  in  a  court  of  justice," 

"Prisoners,"  said  our  justice  of  the  peace,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  Bible,  "this  book  contains  the  only 
law  I  know.  I'm  not  here  as  judge  or  lawyer,  but 
as  one  of  Her  Majesty's  officers  trusted  to  do  the 
sporting  thing,  and  to  deal  fairly  and  squarely  with 
three  innocent  men  who  have  the  misfortune  to  be 
charged  with  crime.  You've  only  to  prove  to  me 
that  you're  innocent,  and  I  have  power  to  let  you  go 
free.     But  I  warn  you  to  tell  the  truth." 

"Seems  a  square  deal.  Cap,"  said  Whiskers. 

"It  is  a  square  deal.  Now,  would  you  like  to  have 
some  one  of  your  countrymen  as  prisoners'  friend?" 

Whiskers    looked    reproachfully    at    the    United 


194  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

States  marshal  who  demanded  his  extradition,  and 
the  representative  of  stock  associations  who  offered 
fabulous  rewards  for  his  body  "dead  or  alive." 
"Wall,"  he  drawled,  "not  exactly." 
"You  other  prisoners.     Do  you  accept  this  man 
as  your  spokesman?" 
St,  senor. 
"That's  all  right,"  said  Bull. 

"Prisoner  O'Flynn,  you  are  charged  with  assault- 
ing a  woman,  you  others  with  aiding  and  abetting. 
Guilty  or  not  guilty?" 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  Whiskers  sadly,  "and  all  three 
of  us  wishes  to  say  what's  got  to  be  said" — he  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height — "by  gentlemen !  We 
tried  to  force  a  lady  to  give  her  husband  away.  She 
shamed  us,  and  we  honors  Mrs.  Smith  for  what  she 
done.  She  told  us  to  go  to  blazes.  Yes,  sir!  We 
just  owns  up  that  we're  guilty  as  hell,  as  the  best 
way  of  showing  our  respect." 

"Gentlemen,"  Captain  Taylor  spoke  very  gently. 
"I  understand  that  you,  O'Flynn,  received  two 
wounds  in  punishment,  and  that  two  of  your  com- 
rades were  killed  by  the  men  who  avenged  this  af- 
front. Is  that  true?" 
"It's  a  fact." 


BREAKING    THE    STATUTES         195 

"The  verdict  of  the  court  is,  'not  guilty.' 

"But  prisoner,  your  confession  proves  the  right  of 
the  settlers  to  organize  for  defense  of  the  settlement 
until  the  constable  could  be  brought  to  their  help. 
All  you  settlers  who  have  taken  part  in  the  capture 
of  these  prisoners  are  engaged  by  the  province  as 
special  constables  from  the  day  you  undertook  serv- 
ice, until  I  give  you  your  discharge.  You  will  be 
paid  on  such  a  scale  as  I  direct. 

"Rudolf  Schweinfurth." 

The  marshal  came  forward  and  was  sworn. 

"You  are  a  United  States  marshal?" 

"Yes,  your  honor." 

"You  submit  proof?" 

The  marshal's  credentials  were  read. 

"You  claim  these  prisoners  for  extradition?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Sit  down.  Cyrus  Y.  Jones."  The  other  stock- 
man was  sworn.  "You  are  representative  of  certain 
stock  associations  and  submit  proof?  Right.  You 
claim  certain  cattle  alleged  to  be  stolen,  and  found 
in  possession  of  the  prisoners?  Right.  You  submit 
photographs  identifying  certain  of  these  cattle  and 
evidence  of  theft.    And  you  offer  twenty-five  thou- 


196  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

sand  dollars'  reward  for  recovery  of  the  stock.  Pay 
that  money  into  court  and  take  my  receipt 

"Prisoners,  you  are  charged  in  your  own  country 
with  robbery-under-arms  and  homicide  in  various 
degrees.  Now,  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  to 
what  particular  degree  you  may  or  may  not  have 
murdered  people,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  being  killed 
even  to  a  very  slight  extent  must  be  damned  incon- 
venient. I  don't  want  to  know  whether  you're  guilty 
or  not  guilty,  because  it's  no  business  of  mine.  I  do 
know  that  this  official  who  claims  you  represents  the 
republic.  I  have  plenty  of  evidence  that  you  were 
found  in  this  country  under  suspicious  circumstances, 
and  that  you  proceeded  to  make  yourselves  a  general 
nuisance.  If  I  committed  you  for  vagrancy  or  as- 
saiJlt,  it  would  delay  you  in  a  business  which  you 
must  have  deeply  at  heart.  I  know  that  if  I  were 
charged  with  a  tenth  part  of  these  crimes  I'd  never 
sleep  until  I  proved  my  innocence.  Do  you  or  do 
you  not  wish  to  prove  your  innocence?" 

The  prisoners  scratched  their  heads. 

"Marshal,"  said  the  magistrate.  "I  don't  know 
what  my  powers  are  in  this  matter,  but  it's  evident 
that  the  less  red  tape  there  is  the  sooner  these  men 
will  get  the  justice  they  rightly  demand.     I  don't 


BREAKING    THE    STATUTES         197 

want  them.  Give  me  a  receipt  and  engage  what 
men  you  need  for  escort  duty.  You,  Mr.  Repre- 
sentative, give  me  your  receipt  for  the  cattle.  Now 
clear  out,  and  get  to  the  States  before  you're  inter- 
fered with  by  any  lop-eared  officials.  Constable, 
hand  over  your  prisoners. 

"Mr.  Dale  and  Mr.  Smith,  will  you  trust  me  as 
magistrate  to  make  a  fair  division  of  this  reward? 
All  right.  One-quarter  goes  to  Dale,  one-quarter 
to  Smith,  and  the  other  half  to  be  equally  divided 
among  you.  Is  that  fair?  All  right,  here's  the 
plunder.  Let's  get  the  table  in  and  dinner  served. 
I'm  famished." 

So  the  court  rose,  and  the  dear  old  captain,  hav- 
ing, I  believe,  broken  every  statute  in  British  Co- 
lumbia jurisprudence,  asked  all  hands  and  the  pris- 
oners to  dinner.  "Of  course,"  he  said  afterward  to 
Jesse,  "I  ought  to  have  committed  you  and  Dale  to 
trial  for  homicide,  fined  you  all  round  for  using 
guns  without  a  license,  turned  the  lawyers  loose  on 
a  fat  extradition  case,  and  impounded  the  cattle  to 
eat  my  grass  at  government  expense.  As  it  is,  I'll 
be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered  by  the  politicians, 
damned  by  the  press,  and  jailed  for  thrashing  edi- 
tors.   And  I  missed  all  the  fun." 


198  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

After  dinner  the  crowd  broke  up  into  little  groups. 
In  one  corner  the  American  officials  were  bargaining 
with  Mr.  Dale  for  his  Sky-line  men  to  ride  with  the 
prisoners  and  the  cattle.  By  the  door  stood  Mr. 
Brooke,  explaining  something  at  great  length  to  our 
bored  constable.  At  the  head  of  the  long  table 
Captain  Taylor  was  telling  me  how  difficult  it  was 
to  find  a  suitable  nursery  governess  for  Wee  James. 
At  the  foot  of  the  table  I  saw  the  Mexican  whisper- 
ing to  his  unfortunate  chief — plans  for  escape,  no 
doubt.  Then  Jesse  joined  them,  with  a  present  of 
pipes,  matches,  and  tobacco  to  ease  their  journey. 

"Mr.  Smith,"  said  poor  old  O'Flynn,  "this  yere 
Sebastian  Diaz  has  been  with  me  these  twelve  year. 
He's  only  a  greaser — " 

"Medio  Sangre,  senor!"  said  the  half-breed 
proudly. 

"But  he's  got  the  heart  of  a  white  man.  He's  like 
a  son  to  me." 

"I'm  proud,"  said  Jesse,  "to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, both  of  you.     You  are  men,  all  right." 

"We  fought  the  rich  men  what  had  wronged  us, 
them  and  their  breed.  We  put  up  a  good  fight. 
Yes,  sir!     And  we  wouldn't  have  missed  a  mile  of 


BREAKING    THE    STATUTES         199 

that  twelve  years'  trail.  It  wasn't  our  way  to  insult 
women,  Mr.  Smith." 

"You  had  to  git  that  information  somehow,"  said 
Jesse,  "and  Mrs.  Smith  forgives  you." 

The  old  man  bowed  his  head. 

"Muchos  gracias,  caballero !"  said  the  Mexican, 
gently. 

"That's  off  our  minds,  Mr.  Smith." 

"Mostly  known  as  Jesse,"  said  my  husband. 

"Jesse.  We  bin  consulting,  and  we  agree  you're 
the  only  man  here  we'd  care  to  ask  favors  of." 

"I'm  your  friend  all  right." 

"Jesse,  if  we  don't  escape,  we  are  due  to  pass  in 
our  chips." 

"I'm  not  going  to  help  you  escape." 

"Wall,  you  haven't  helped  our  escape  to  any  great 
extent,  so  far  as  I  know." 

Jesse  chuckled. 

"But  I'm  asking  you  to  look  after  my  wife  and 
my  son." 

"I'll  do  that." 

"You'll  save  the  boy  from  his  father's  trade?" 

"I  reckon." 

"Put  her  thar." 

And  they  shook  hands. 


200  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Them  horses  we  was  riding,"  said  the  outlaw, 
"is  for  my  son." 

"That's  all  right." 

"And  one  thing  more.  This  yere  Brooke  ain't 
white." 

"You  don't  say !" 

The  outlaw  grinned.  "You  sized  him  up  all  right. 
He  joined  us  out  of  a  Wild  West  show  last  fall.  He's 
never  done  nothin'  to  earn  hanging  or  jail,  being 
too  incompetent.  But  he's  state's  evidence  enough  to 
hang  us  twenty  times  over.     He'll  get  off. 

"Moreover,  Jesse,  take  a  dying  man's  word. 
That  Brooke  has  an  eye  on  your  good  lady.  He's 
your  enemy  from  times  far  back  at  Abilene.  He'll 
live  to  do  you  dirt.  Thar,  I  sort  of  hates  to  talk  so 
of  one  of  my  men,  and  I  won't  say  no  more. 

"Say,  my  hands  being  hurt,  will  you  just  reach 
into  my  off  hind  pocket?  That's  right.  There's  a 
gold  watch.  Take  it,  my  time's  up.  Give  that  to 
your  lady  from  us  as  a  sort  of  keepsake.  Good-by, 
partner." 

"Good-by,  friend." 

^'Adios,"  said  the  Mexican.  "Vaya  usted  con 
Dios!"  And  the  English  of  that  is,  "May  you  ride 
with  God !" 


BREAKING    THE    STATUTES         201 

From  the  other  end  of  the  room  Captain  Taylor 
and  I  were  watching  that  little  scene.  Without 
hearing  a  word  we  could  understand  so  well. 
"Young  woman,"  said  the  captain,  "when  I  was  a 
younger  fool  than  I  am  now,  I  was  a  naval  attache 
at  St.  Petersburg.  I'd  seen  how  the  Russian  Bear 
behaved  at  Sebastopol  and  I  liked  to  watch  how  he 
behaved  In  the  Winter  Palace.  One  day  a  Cossack 
officer  and  his  son  came  to  make  an  appeal.  Mrs. 
officer  had  been  a  puss  and  bolted  with  one  of 
the  court  officials,  so  her  husband  and  son  wanted 
leave  to  go  after  the  man  with  their  guns.  They 
were  so  miserable  that  they  sat  at  a  table  and  took 
no  notice  of  anybody  or  anything.  After  they'd 
been  sitting  a  long  time,  a  man  came  and  laid  down 
a  case  of  dueling  pistols  on  the  table  beside  them. 
I  couldn't  hear  what  he  said,  but  he  sat  down  with 
them.  Presently  I  saw  him  shake  hands  with  the 
general. 

"Now  your  husband  put  something  on  the  table, 
and  sat  down  with  those  wretched  prisoners,  and 
presently  shook  hands  with  one  of  them. 

'  "Your  husband  and  that  Russian  chap  did  the 
very  same  things  in  the  very  same  way.  Yes,  you've 
married  a  gentleman  by  mistake." 


<' 


202  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

I  was  puzzled.    "Who  was  the  Russian?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you?     He  was  the  emperor." 

After  a  minute,  while  I  watched  my  royal  man, 
the  captain  laid  his  hand  on  mine.  "Don't  let  these 
loafers  see  you  crying,"  he  whispered. 

"I'm  not  crying."  I  looked  round  to  prove  that 
I  was  not  crying,  and  as  I  did  so,  my  glance  fell 
upon  the  old  man's  miniature  medals.  One  of  them 
was  the  Victoria  Cross. 


CHAPTER  Xr 

BILLY    O'FLYNN 

Kate's  Narrative 

BOTH  Jesse  and  I  have  a  habit  of  committing 
our    thoughts    to    paper    and    not    to    speech. 
Things   written   can   be   destroyed,   whereas  things 

said  stay  terribly  alive.  I  think  if  other  husbands 
and  wives  I  know  of  wrote  more  and  talked  less, 
their  homes  would  not  feel  so  dreadful,  so  full  of 
horrible  shadows.  There  are  houses  where  I  feel 
ill  as  soon  as  I  cross  the  door-step,  because  the  very 
air  of  the  rooms  is  foul  with  the  spite,  the  nagging, 
the  strife  of  bitter  souls.  As  to  the  houses  where 
horrors  have  taken  place — despair,  madness,  mur- 
der, suicide — these  are  always  haunted,  and  sensitive 
people  are  terrified  by  ghosts. 

My  pen  has  rambled.  I  sat  down  to  write  a  thing 
which  must  not  be  said. 

Jesse  is  cruel  to  young  O'Flynn.  Perhaps  he  is 
justly,  rightly  cruel,  in  gibing  at  this  young  cow- 

203 


i»04  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

boy,  taunting  him  until  the  lad  is  on  the  very  edge 
of  murder.  "Got  to  be  done,"  says  Jesse,  "I  prom- 
ised his  father  that  I'd  break  the  colt  until  he's  fed 
up  with  robbers.  So  just  you  watch  me  lift  the  dust 
from  his  hide,  and  don't  you  git  gesticulating  on 
my  trail  with  your  fool  sympathies."  Billy  does 
not  suspect  that  the  tormentor  loves  his  victim. 

My  heart  aches  with  his  humiliation.  His  mother 
is  my  cook,  not  a  princess,  as  the  boy's  pride  would 
have  her.  His  father  was  one  of  the  most  danger- 
ous leaders  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  outlaws,  so 
there  the  lad  saw  glory,  and  I  don't  blame  him. 
But  all  the  glamour  was  stripped  away  when  Jesse 
tricked  O'Flynn  and  his  gang  into  surrender,  hand- 
ed them  over  to  justice,  and  showed  poor  Billy  his 
sordid  heroes  for  what  they  really  were.  His  father 
has  been  hanged. 

Remember  that  this  ranch,  ablaze  with  romance 
for  me,  is  squalid  every-day  routine  for  Billy,  whose 
dreams  are  beyond  the  sky-line.  He  imagines  rail- 
ways as  we  imagine  dragons,  and  the  Bloomsbury 
boarding-house  from  which  my  sister  wrote  on  her 
return  from  India  is,  from  his  point  of  view,  a 
place  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  I  read  to  him  Taddy's 
letter,  about  the  new  boarder  from  Selangor,  who 


BILLY  O'FLYNN  205 

is  down  with  fever,  the  German  waiter  caught  read- 
ing Colonel  Boyce's  manuscript  on  protective  color 
for  howitzers,  the  tweeny's  sailor  father  drowned 
at  sea,  and  the  excitement  in  that  humdrum  house 
when  Lady  Blacktail  called.  "Wish  I'd  had  a 
shot,"  said  Billy  wistfully,  his  mind  on  the  black- 
tail,  our  local  kind  of  deer.  Perhaps  he  saw  forest 
behind  the  boarding-house.  "In  the  old  country," 
said  he,  "do  the  does  call?  Only  the  buck  calls 
here.     Your  folks  is  easy  excited,  anyways." 

"Lady  Blacktail,"  said  I,  "is  a  woman." 

"What  was  she  shouting  about?" 

"She  just  called — came  to  take  tea,  you  know." 

"Got  no  job  of  work?" 

"Oh,  but  her  husband.  Sir  Tom,  was  a  very  rich 
man.     He  left  her  millions." 

"Mother's  first  husband,"  said  Billy,  his  mind 
running  on  widows,  "had  lots  of  wealth.  He  kep' 
a  seegar  stand  down-town  near  the  Battery,  and  had 
a  brass  band  when  they  buried  him.  Mother  came 
out  West." 

That  night  the  lad  had  come  from  Hundred  Mile 
House,  with  Jesse's  pack-train  bearing  a  load  of 
stores.  There  was  a  dress  length,  music  for  my 
dear    dumpy   piano,    spiced    rolls    of   bacon,   much 


206  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

needed  flour  and  groceries,  and  an  orange  kerchief 
for  Billy.  From  his  saddle  wallets  he  produced 
my  crumpled  letters  and  the  weekly  paper,  a  Van- 
couver rag.  Therein  Jesse  labors  among  tangles  of 
provincial  politics,  I  gloat  over  the  cooking  recipes 
of  America's  nice  cuisine,  and  spare  maybe  just  a 
sigh  over  the  London  letter.  Billy's  portion  con- 
sists of  blood-curdling  disasters  and  crimes,  and  the 
widow  waits  ravenous  for  her  kindling,  bed  stuffing, 
wall  paper,  and  new  pads  for  her  wooden  leg.  At 
ten  cents  that  paper  is  a  bargain. 

She  hovered  presiding  while  her  boy  had  supper, 
I  checked  stores  against  an  untruthful  invoice,  and 
Jesse  prepared  to  read :  "Bribed  with  a  Bridge ! 
Who  Stole  the  Bonds,"  etc.  Dear  Jesse  takes  his 
reading  seriously.  His  mind  must  be  prepared  with 
a  pipe.  His  stately  spectacles  are  cleaned  on  his 
neck-cloth,  and  so  mounted  that  he  can  see  to  read 
over  the  edges.  Next  he  crawls  under  the  stove  to 
find  the  bootjack,  and  pull  off  his  long  boots. 
After  that  he  fills  the  lamp,  lights  that  and  a  cigar 
of  fearful  pungency,  and  settles  his  great  limbs  in 
the  chair  of  state.  When  all  was  arranared  that 
night  he  looked  up  from  his  paper.  "Say,"  he 
drawled,   "Billy.     When  you   ride  away  and  turn 


BILLY  O'FLYNN  207 

robber,  what's  the  matter  with  politics?  You  see 
if  you  was  Sir  Billy  O'Flynn,  and  a  Right  Honor- 
able Premier,  you  could  steal  enough  to  buy  spurs 
as  big  as  car  wheels.  You're  fiercer  than  our  mem- 
ber already  with  that  new  cow-scaring  scarf,  so  all 
you'd  need  is  a  machine  gun  slung  on  your  belt,  a 
man-killer  like  my  mare  Jones,  and  you'll  be  the 
tiger  of  the  forest.  You  git  yo'  mother's  cat  to 
learn  you  how  to  yowl." 

II 

After  breakfast  when  Jesse  had  gone  to  work, 
the  widow  came  to  me  in  deep  distress,  leaning 
against  the  door-post,  twisting  up  her  apron  with 
tremulous  fingers,  her  eyes  dark  with  dread.  When 
I  led  her  to  a  seat,  perhaps  she  felt  my  sympathy, 
for  a  flood  of  tears  broke  loose,  and  wild  Irish 
mixed  with  her  sobs.  The  leprechawn  possessed 
her  bhoy  avick,  night-riders  haunted  him,  divils 
was  in  him  acushla,  and  the  child  was  fey.  His 
step-uncle  went  fey  to  his  end  in  the  dreadful 
quicksands,  her  brother-in-law  went  mad  in  the 
black  Indian  hills,  running  on  the  spears  of  the 
haythen,  rest  his  sowl,  and  now  Billy!  He  was 
gone  this  hour.      Fiercely  she  ordered  me  out  to 


'208  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

search,  for  she  would  take  the  southern  pasture,  so 
surely  I  would  find  him  in  the  pines.  She  feared 
that  place;  muttered  of  fires  lighted  by  no  mortal 
hands.  She  spoke  of  wandering  lights ;  the  cat  had 
bristled  sparks  flying  from  his  coat  because  of  elfin 
voices,  and  Mick  had  howled  all  night  down  at  the 
Apex.  Yestreen  a  falling  star  had  warned  her  that 
she  was  to  lose  her  bhoy,  and  had  I  not  seen  that  face 
in  the  windy  last  night? 

Soothing  the  poor  thing  as  best  I  could,  I  under- 
took the  search,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  away  out- 
doors. Presently  I  came  upon  Billy  perched  on  a 
root  overhanging  the  depths  of  the  canon.  He  was 
cleaning  Jesse's  rifle,  and  I  surprised  him  in  a  fit 
of  angry  laughter. 

"Billy,"  I  shouted,  "come  in  off  that  root  before 
you  fall !" 

He  obeyed,  with  sulky  patience  at  my  whims. 

"Why  are  you  not  at  work?  What  are  you  doing 
with  my  husband's  rifle?" 

"I'm  at  work,"  he  answered  sulkily, — then  with 
an  odd  vagueness  of  manner,  "I'm  cleaning  the 
durned  thing." 

Being  a  woman,  and  cursed  at  that  with  the  ar- 
tistic temperament,  I  could  not  help  being  moved  by 


BILLY  O'FLYNN  209 

this  lad's  extraordinary  beauty, — the  curly  red-gold 
hair,  skin  with  the  dusty  blook  of  a  ripe  peach,  the 
poise  of  easy  power  and  lithe  grace,  the  sense  he 
gave  me  of  glowing  color  veiling  rugged  strength. 
As  an  artist  studies  a  good  model,  I  had  observed 
very  closely  the  moods  of  Billy's  temperament. 

His  mother  was  right.  That  vagueness  of  manner 
was  abnormal,  and  the  lad  was  fey. 

"But  why  are  you  cleaning  his  rifle?" 

"It  kicks  when  it's  foul,"  he  said  absently. 

"You're  off  hunting?" 

"Goin'  to  shoot  Jesse,  thet's  all." 

"I'm  sure,"  I  said,  "he  cleaned  it  yesterday.  Look 
here,"  and  I  took  the  rifle  to  show  him  it  was  clean. 
"See."  I  put  my  little  finger  nail  in  the  breech  while 
he  looked  down  the  barrel.  "Come,"  said  I,  and  told 
him  that  in  my  sewing-machine  there  was  a  bottle 
of  gun  oil.   The  rifle  was  in  my  possession,  safe. 

Then  he  heard  Jesse  coming.  "Whist!  Hide  the 
gun !"  he  said,  and  as  though  we  were  fellow  con- 
spirators, I  placed  It  behind  a  tree,  so  that  my  man 
saw  nothing  to  cause  alarm. 

Jesse  came.  It  seemed,  in  search  of  Billy. 

"Hello,  Kate,"  he  said  In  greeting.  "Say,  young- 
ster, when  you  sawed  off  that  table  leg  to  make  your 
mother's  limb,  what  did  you  do  with  the  caster?" 


I 


CHAPTER  XII 

EXPOUNDING  THE   SCRIPTURES 

WONDER  how  many  persons  live  in  Jesse's 
body?  On  the  surface  he  is  the  rugged  whim- 
sical stockman,  lazy,  with  such  powers  in  reserve 
as  would  equip  a  first-class  volcano.  Sing  to  him 
and  another  Jesse  emerges,  an  inarticulate  poet,  a 
craftless  artist,  an  illiterate  writer,  passionate  lover 
of  all  things  beautiful  in  art  and  nature.  And  be- 
neath all  that  is  Jesse  of  the  Sabbath,  in  bleak 
righteousness  and  harsh  respectability,  scion  of 
many  Smiths,  the  God-fearing  head  of  his  house, 
who  reads  and  expounds  the  Scriptures  on  Sunday 
evenings  to  sullen  Billy,  the  morose  widow,  and  my 
unworthy  self.  Hear  him  expound  in  the  vindictive 
mood : — 

"When  I  survey  the  pasture  in  these  here  back 
blocks  of  Genesis,  I  know  we  got  to  make  allow- 
ances. These  patriarchs  is  only  sheepmen  anyhow, 
and  sheep  herders  is  trash.     They're  not  v^hat  we 

2IO 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES       211 

call  white  men,  but  Jews,  which  is  a  species  of  dago. 
When  they  get  religion  they're  a  sort  Mormons,  a 
low-lived  breed,  yet  useful  for  throwing  population 
quick  into  a  lonesome  country  where  they  don't 
seem  popular. 

"Now  here's  Laban.  He  hasn't  got  religion,  but 
keeps  a  trunk  full  of  no-account  gods,  believed  in 
by  ignorant  persons.  Instead  of  attending  to  busi- 
ness, he  trusts  his  foreman  Jacob,  so  it  serves  him 
right  if  he's  robbed.  Yet  the  Lord  ain't  down  on 
him  quite  so  much  as  you'd  think,  for  he's  allowed 
to  graze  government  land,  with  no  taxes,  mortgage, 
or  railroads  to  rob  the  meat  off  his  bones.  Maybe 
the  Lord's  sort  of  sorry  for  the  poor  sheep-herding 
dago  without  no  horses — the  same  being  good  for 
men's  morals,  though  Jones  did  kick  me  out  of  the 
stable  this  very  morning.  Moreover,  Laban  lives 
in  a  scope  of  country  where  men  is  surely  scarce,  or 
he'd  never  give  more'n  one  of  his  daughters  to  such 
a  swine  as  Jacob.  Laban  tries  to  be  white,  so  he'd 
get  my  vote  at  elections. 

"You'd  think  that  if  the  Lord  could  stand  Jacob 
He  must  be  plumb  full  of  mercy — so  there's  hope 
for  skunks.  He's  got  so  many  millions  of  thorough- 
bred stud  angels  that  even  the  best  of  men  is  low 


212  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

grade  stock  to  Him.  And  regarding  us  mavericks, 
He  has  an  eye  on  them  as  takes  kindly  to  their  feed. 
Yes,  He  claps  His  brand  on  them  as  know  their 
work. 

"So  He  sees  Jacob  is  a  sure  glutton,  and  more, 
a  great  stockman,  projucing  an  improved  strain  of 
ringstraked  goats  and  sheep.  And  Jacob  does  his 
duty  to  his  country,  begetting  twelve  sons — mean  as 
snakes  but  still  the  best  he  can  raise.  Yes,  there's 
excuses  for  Jacob,  and  lynching  ain't  yet  invented. 

"Jacob  throws  dirt  in  old  man  Laban's  face,  then 
skins  out  for  his  own  reservation.  On  this  trail 
he's  got  to  cross  Esau's  ranch — the  first  man  he 
ever  swindled.  Just  you  watch  him,  abject  as  a 
yaller  dawg,  squirming  and  writhing  and  crawling 
to  meet  the  only  gentleman  in  that  country.  You 
or  me,  Billy,  would  have  kicked  Jacob  good  and 
plenty,  but  we're  only  scrub  cow-boys,  and  that's 
what  the  Bible  instructs. 

"The  mean  trash  agrees  to  keep  off  Laban's  grass ; 
he  puts  up  bribes  to  Esau ;  he  plays  his  skin  game 
on  the  folks  at  Succoth,  which  I  explain  because 
there's  ladies  present,  and  the  only  comfort  is  that 
the  angel  of  the  Lord  has  sized  him  up,  being  due 
to  twist  his  tail  In  next  Sunday's  chapter.     Now 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES      213 

let  us  get  through  praying,  quick  as  the  Lord  will 
let  us,  because  them  calves  ain't  had  their  butter- 
milk." 

When  we  knelt,  the  widow  still  sat  rigid,  and  with 
her  wooden  leg  scratched  out  upon  the  oil-cloth 
vague  outlines  of  a  gallows.  Afterward  she  ex- 
plained. "Yer  husband,  Mrs.  Smith,  bad  cess  to 
him,  is  mighty  proud  av  his  spectacles,  phwat  he 
can't  see  through  and  all,  and  showing  off  his  learn- 
ing and  pride  av  a  Sunday." 

"But  why  draw  gallows  on  the  floor?" 

"And  why  for  should  I  not  draw  gallows  on  the 
flure,  seeing  he'll  never  drown?  It's  hung  he'll 
be  for  a  opprissing  the  fatherless  and  the  widow, 
and  burn  he  will  afther  for  a  Protestant.  Yis,"  she 
flashed  round  on  her  son,  "feed  buttermilk  to  thim 
calves,  and  hould  up  yer  head  alladh,  'cause  you 
inherit  glory  while  he's  frying!" 

Away  from  the  widow's  hate  and  her  son's  ven- 
geance, I  led  my  man  out  under  the  stars.  I  gave 
him  his  cigar,  that  black  explosive  charged  with 
deadly  fumes,  lighted  him  a  sulphur  match.  It 
soothes  his  passions,  and  the  pasture  scent  makes  him 
gentle,  but  when  I  fear  my  grizzly  bear,  and  hardly 
dare  to  stroke,  I  lead  him  by  the  keen  silver  spring, 


214  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

across  the  hollow  where  our  flowers  would  make  a 
devil  smile,  and  on  through  the  wild  rose  tangle,  to 
my  cathedral  pines.  To-night  he  seemed  suspicious, 
even  there,  biting  off  tags  of  the  vindictive  Psalms. 
Nor  would  he  sit  under  the  father  tree  until  I  sang 
to  him. 

"When  Faith's  low  doorway  leads  into  the  church, 
Light  from  austere  saints  mellows  dusty  gloom, 
Sad  music  echoes  in  the  ston}^  heavens. 
And  this  bleak  pavement  masks  a  charnel  hell. 
Yet  in  man's  likeness  God  makes  Pain  divine 
And  here  Truth's  dawn  breaks  upwards  towards 
the  Light. 

Come  to  the  hill-top:  blackbird  choristers 
Peal  their  clear  anthem  to  the  kneeling  gorse; 
The  old  trees  pray,  their  thirsty  faces  rapt, 
While  congregations  of  great  angel  clouds 
Receive  the  holy  Sacramental  Light 
From  God's  high  priest,  the  ministering  Sun !" 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  Jesse,  all  the  rancor 
gone. 

"Jesse,  do  you  know  that  it's  nearly  a  year  since 
we  married?" 

"Ten  months,  Kate,  and  fourteen  days.  Do  you 
think  I  don't  reckon  ?" 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES      215 

I  sat  down  on  the  root  of  the  little  governess  tree, 
She  humblest  in  the  grove.  "In  the  Bible,  dear,  who 
was  the  son  of  Jesse?" 

"David,  of  course." 

"Do  you  remember,  dear:  'for  I  have  provided 
a  king  among  his  sons'?" 

He  looked  away  across  the  thundrous  misty 
depths  of  the  canon,  and  the  moonlight  caught  his 
profile  as  though  it  were  etched  in  silver.  "A 
mighty  valiant  man,"  he  whispered,  "prudent  in 
matters,  and  a  man  of  war." 

"Jesse,  I've  got  such  a  confession  to  make.  When 
you  settled  Mr.  Trevor's  estate — " 

"His  estates  were  debts,  and  we  paid  'em.  There 
ain't  no  need  to  fuss." 

"You  paid  the  debts.  You  were  hard  driven  to 
meet  the  interest  on  your  mortgage." 

"That's  paid  off  now.  Besides  we've  a  clear  title 
to  our  land,  mother's  gravestone's  off  my  chest,  we 
don't  owe  a  cent  in  the  world,  and  there's  nary  a 
worry  left,  except  I'm  sort  of  sorry  for  them  poor 
robbers.     Why  fuss?" 

"You  earned  six  thousand  dollars,  at  goodness 
knows  what  peril.  I  let  you  still  imagine  that  you 
ivere  poor." 


216  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"We  got  plenty  wealth,  Kate,  wealth  enough  for 
—for  David." 

"I  wanted  you,  Jesse,  just  you,  I  wanted  poverty 
because  you  were  poor.  I  have  been  content,  and 
now  you've  won  the  capital  to  free  the  ranch,  to 
buy  a  thoroughbred  stallion,  to  stock  the  place." 

"That's  so." 

"Jesse,  under  my  dear  father's  will,  I  have  seven 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"A  ivhatr 

"I'm  a  rich  woman,  dear.  I've  been  saving  my 
income,  and  there's  ten  thousand  dollars  for  you  at 
the  bank." 

So  I  gave  him  my  check,  which  he  receipted 
promptly  with  a  kiss.     He  is  so  rough,  too. 

Then  we  discussed  improvements.  A  bunch  of 
East  Oregon  horses,  three  cow-boys  to  handle  our 
stock,  a  man  to  run  the  Sky-line  contract,  an  irri- 
gated corn  field,  and  winter  feed,  two  Chinese  serv- 
ants, so  many  'must  haves'  that  we  waxed  quite  de- 
spondent over  ways  and  means.  Jesse  must  go  to 
Vancouver  on  business,  and  thus  after  much  pre- 
amble I  came  at  last  to  the  point. 

"Take  Billy  with  you." 

"But  if  I  go,  he's  got  to  look  after  the  ranch." 


EXPOUNDING   THE    SCRIPTURES      217 

Men  are  so  stupid.  When  I  sing  to  my  dear  bulJ 
pines,  they  breathe  a  swaying  thin  echo  like  some 
distant  chorus;  yet  at  the  sight  of  Jesse,  become  im- 
passive as  red  Indian  chiefs.  How  could  I  tell  such 
a  man  of  peril?  The  widow  understands,  and  no 
sacrifice  is  too  great  for  a  mother. 

"You  preach  at  Billy,"  I  said,  "you  pray  at  him. 
Remember  he's  wild  as  these  woods,  son  of  a  dan- 
gerous felon.  His  mother  goads  him  on,  and  there's 
danger,  Jesse." 

I  knew  while  I  spoke  the  folly  of  appealing  to 
any  sense  of  fear.     He  chuckled  softly. 

"Why,  Billy  daresn't  say  good  morning  to  my 
pinto  colt.  He  was  bucking  plentiful  to-day,  and 
me  spitting  blood  before  I  got  him  conquered.  Now 
just  you  leave  me  to  tame  colts  and  cow-boys.  I 
propose  to  rub  old  man  Jacob  into  Billy  by  way  of 
liniment  until  he  supples,  yes,  and  works.  Dreams 
earn  no  grub." 

"Take  him  away,  Jesse,  dear." 

"He  bin  making  love  to  you,  Kate?" 

My  heart  stood  still,  and  to  my  jealous  husband 
silence  means  consent.  Two  bats  came  darkly  by, 
with  a  business  manner,  having  perhaps  an  appoint- 
ment with  some  field  mouse.     Then  the  hypocrite 


2i8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

in  me  sighed,  and  Jesse  flinging  away  his  cigar 
stub,  said  with  an  oath  that  Billy  should  be  on  his 
way  to  Vancouver  by  daybreak. 

Yes,  Jesse  is  hard  to  manage,  but  presently  he 
remembered  about  the  check,  which  made  him  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  feel  rich.  He's  too  rough 
when  I  let  him  love  me.  Indeed  I  had  to  do  up 
my  hair  in  the  dark,  though  the  fireflies  off"ered  the 
dearest  little  lamps.  Besides  a  little  jealousy  is 
good  for  Jesse.  I  should  not  like  to  see  his  love 
go  hungry. 

Ill 

Last  night  Jesse  came  home  from  Vancouver,  and 
it  being  Sunday  evening,  he  read  and  expounded 
the  Scriptures  to  the  amazement  of  the  three  new 
ranch-hands.  The  Chinamen,  being  heathens,  were 
let  off. 

"Not  being  wise  in  the  ways  of  high  society,  I 
ain't  free  to  comment  on  Mrs.  Potiphar,  who  kep' 
a  steward  instead  of  doing  her  job  as  housekeeper, 
or  on  this  General  Sir  Something  Potiphar,  C.O.D., 
C.P.R.,  H.B.C.,  P.D.O.,  commanding  the  Haw-Haw 
Guards,  who  seems  to  neglect  his  missus.  As  a  plain 
stockman  I  pursues  after  Joseph." 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES       219 

By  this  time  three  godless  cow-punchers,  crimson 
with  suppressed  emotions,  were  digging  one  another 
fiercely  in  the  ribs. 

"This  here  Joseph  is  a  sheep-herding  swine  from 
the  desert,  smooth  because  he's  been  brung  up 
among  range  animals,  but  mean  because  he's  raised 
for  a  pet  by  Jacob,  the  champion  stinker  of  the  wild 
west." 

At  that  Pete  exploded,  and  had  to  retire  in  con- 
vulsions, while  the  other  two  infants  reproached 
him  for  interruption. 

"Smooth  and  mean  is  Joseph,  a  cream-laid  young 
person  like  Pete,  who's  going  to  have  black  draft 
to  heal  his  cough  before  morning.  Joseph  is  all 
deportment  and  sad  eyes,  with  a  crossed-in-love 
droop.  His  brothers  is  mean  so  far  as  they  knows 
how  without  reading  newspapers,  but  even  they 
can't  stand  Joseph.  General  and  Mrs.  Potiphar 
don't  seem  to  like  his  perfume.  When  he's  in  jail 
he's  steward,  so  that  the  other  prisoners  has  dreams 
of  grub  but  nary  a  meal  till  he  goes. 

"I  dunno,  but  if  I  was  a  self-made  man,  I'd  hate 
to  have  my  autobiography  wrote  by  my  poor  rela- 
tions, or  the  backers  I'd  cheated  and  left  on  my 
trail  to  Fifth  Avenue.   Them  brethren,  the  Potiphar 


220  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

outfit,  and  the  jailbirds,  is  plumb  full  of  grief 
that  they  ever  seen  this  Joseph,  and  you'll  notice 
that  when  he  dies,  the  Egyptians  don't  subscribe 
for  a  monument.  He's  a  city  man,  a  financier,  and 
the  Lord  is  with  him,  watching  his  natural  history, 
^this  being  the  first  warning  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt. 

"Thar's  only  one  man  as  can  aflford  to  know  the 
Honorable  Joseph.  Pharoah  has  an  ax,  so  any  gent 
caught  with  more'n  four  aces,  is  apt  to  fade  away 
out  of  Egypt.  Yes,  he  can  aflford  to  know  Joseph, 
and  they're  birds  of  a  feather  all  right. 

"Now  horses  is  so  scarce  that  up  to  now  there 
ain't  one  in  the  Bible,  until  Pharaoh  loans  Joseph 
his  second-best  chariot,  and  gives  him  a  sure  fine 
sleigh-robe  to  go  buggy  riding. 

"And  Jews  is  scarce.  This  Pharaoh  Is  the  first 
king  to  get  a  Jew  financier  to  do  his  graft. 

"It  ain't  the  king  who  pays  for  that  corner  in 
wheat,  and  you  can  bet  your  socks  it's  not  Joseph. 
It's  the  bleeding,  sweating,  hungry  Egyptians  who 
pays  the  wheat  trust  which  makes  Pharaoh  and 
Joseph  multimillionaires.  So  there  on  the  high 
lonesome  is  the  Jew  and  His  Majesty,  with  no  club 
of  millionaires  to  tell  them  they  done  right,  and 
nobody  in  all  Egypt  left  to  swindle. 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES       221 

"Old  Pharaoh's  in  a  museum  now,  Joseph  is  lo- 
cated at  Chicago,  Egypt  is  sand-rock  desert;  but 
God's  in  His  Heaven,  and  judging  by  the  way  us 
human  beings  behave,  them  golden  pavements  ain't 
got  crowded  yet. 

"Oh,  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  we  who  ride  herd 
in  Thy  pastures,  haven't  got  much  to  be  selfish  about 
on  earth.  We  cayn't  make  dollars  out  of  Thy 
golden  sunshine,  or  currency  bills  out  of  Thy  sil- 
ver streams,  but  all  the  same,  deliver  us  from 
selfishness,  and  lead  us  not  into  the  temptations  of 
a  large  account  at  the  bank,  'cause  we're  only  kids 
when  we  gets  down  to  civilization,  and  all  our  ways 
is  muddy  so  soon  as  we  quit  Thy  grass." 

The  cow-boys  slipped  away,  no  longer  hilarious, 
perhaps  even  a  little  awed,  for  Jesse's  quaint  ob- 
servances are  spray  from  a  sea,  sparkling  on  the 
surface,  but  in  its  depths  profound.  And  we  two 
women  waited,  the  widow  longing  for  news  about 
her  son,  while  I  was  concerned  for  my  man.  Hard, 
bitter,  sinister  the  sermon,  humble  and  reverent  the 
appeal  for  help,  and  now  when  the  men  had  left  us, 
Jesse  remained  in  prayer.  Almost  with  tears  he 
pleaded  for  widows  and  fatherless  children,  until 
my  servant's  austere  face  became  quite  gentle,  and 


222  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

she  was  able  to  hobble  off  to  her  bed  feeling  that 
all  was  well. 

The  night  being  cold,  Jesse  had  his  cigar  beside 
the  stove,  while  I  sat  on  the  low  stool  so  that  the 
fumes  might  rise  above  my  unworthy  head. 

"The  widow  believes,"  I  said,  "that  her  boy  will 
get  rich  in  the  city." 

"I  got  Billy  a  job." 

Jesse's  face  looked  very  grave. 

"At  a  grocery,"  he  added. 

I  sighed  for  the  romantic  lad,  condemned  to  an 
apron  behind  the  counter. 

"And  the  young  hawk  flew  off." 

"I'm  glad!" 

"Ye  see  it's  this  way,  Kate.  He's  shying  heaps 
at  Ashcroft,  the  first  town  he  ever  seen,  where 
there's  a  bit  of  sidewalk,  electric  lights,  and  wait- 
resses. I  had  to  kiss  the  fluffy  one  to  show  him  they 
don't  bite. 

"Then  thar's  the  railroad.  By  that  time  he's 
getting  worldly,  all  Vou-can't-fool-me,'  and  'not- 
half-so-slick-as-our-ranch'  until  we  comes  to  his 
first  tunnel,  and  he  jumps  right  out  of  his  skin. 
After  that  he  wants  everybody  to  know  he's  a  cow- 
boy wild  and  lone,  despising  the  tenderfoot  passen- 


EXPOUNDING    THE    SCRIPTURES      223 

gers  right  through  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
to  Vancouver.  At  the  depot  he  points  one  ear  at 
the  liners  in  port,  and  the  other  ear  at  them  sky- 
scraping,  six-story  business  blocks  up  street.  He 
feels  he'd  ought  to  play  wolf,  shoot  up  saloons,  and 
paint  the  town,  but  he's  getting  scary  as  cats  be- 
cause there's  too  many  people  all  at  once.  He  loses 
count,  thinks  there's  three  horns  goes  to  one  steer, 
and  wants  to  hold  my  hand.  That's  when  a  motor- 
car snorts  in  his  ear;  a  street-car  comes  at  him  ears 
back,  teeth  bare,  and  tail  a-waving;  and  a  lady  axes 
him  what  time  the  twelve  o'clock  train  leaves.  Then 
he  hears  a  band  play,  and  it's  too  much — he  just 
stampedes  for  the  woods.  When  I  rounds  him  up 
next  afternoon,  he's  just  ate  a  candy  store,  he's 
gorged  to  the  eyes,  and  trying  to  make  room  for  ice- 
cream. The  next  two  days  Billy's  close-herded,  and 
fed  high  to  give  his  mind  a  rest.  He  seen  the  sea, 
pawed  the  wet  of  it,  snuffed  the  big  smell — yes,  and 
the  boy  near  crying.  Town  men  who  can't  smell, 
or  see,  or  hear,  or  feel  with  their  hands,  would  have 
some  trouble  understanding  what  the  sea  means  to 
a  sort  of  child  like  that. 

"He's  willing  to  start  work  as  a  millionaire,  but 
don't  feel  no  holy  vocation  for  groceries.     So  in  the 


224  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

end  he  runs  away,  out  of  that  frying-pan  into  the 
— wall,  the  rest  ain't  clearly  known,  although  the 
police  has  a  clue.  It  seems  my  wolf  cub  leads  some 
innocent  yearling  astray  down  by  the  harbor,  said 
victim  being  the  crimp  from  a  sailors'  boarding- 
house.  To  prove  he's  fierce,  Billy  has  a  skinful  of 
mixed  drinks,  and  this  stranger  is  kind  enough  to 
take  him  to  see  a  beautiful  English  bark  which 
is  turning  loose  for  Cape  Horn.  Seems  the  ship 
takes  a  notion  to  Billy,  and  the  captain  politely  axes 
him  to  work.     He's  been  shanghaied." 

"This  will  kill  his  mother." 

"Not  if  she  thinks  her  son's  another  Joseph  get- 
ting rich." 

"Oh,  It's  too  awful!" 

"Wall,  maybe  I'm  a  fool,  Kate,  but  seems  to  me 
that  this  young  person  had  to  be  weaned  from  run- 
ning after  a  woman,  before  he'd  any  chance  to  be 
a  man." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NATIVITY 

Kate's  Narrative 

JESSE  allowed  that  the  upper  forest  does  look 
"sort  of  wolfy."  He  would  post  relays  of 
ponies  along  the  outward  trail,  so  that  he  and  Mc- 
Gee  could  ride  the  eighty  miles  back  in  a  single 
march.  If  the  doctor  survived  that,  he  would  be 
here  in  forty-eight  hours,  perhaps  in  time. 

I  made  Jesse  take  his  revolver,  yes,  loaded  it  my- 
self, and  he  promised  a  signal  shot  from  the  rim- 
rock  to  give  me  the  earliest  news  of  his  return.  He 
put  out  the  light,  he  kissed  me  good-by,  and  was 
gone. 

From  the  inner  edge  of  the  bed  I  could  see 
through  the  window,  and  watched  Orion  rising  be- 
hind the  cliffs.  The  night  turned  pale,  then  for  a 
long  time  the  great  gaunt  precipice  was  revealed  in 
tender  primrose  light  and  amber  shade.  I  heard 
our  riders  saddle,  mount,  and  canter  away  for  the 

225 


226  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

day's  work.  The  two  Chinamen  went  off  also  on 
some  domestic  errand.  The  sunrise  caught  the  pines 
upon  tlie  rim-rock  into  points  of  flame.  I  heard  a 
distant  shot,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  widow  had  stumped  about  nearly  all  night, 
weary  to  the  tip  of  her  wooden  leg,  poor  soul,  so 
when  I  woke  again  and  crept  to  the  lean-to  door,  it 
was  a  relief  to  find  that  she  had  gone  to  sleep.  She 
had  left  me  a  saucepan  full  of  bread  and  milk  which 
I  warmed,  and  it  warmed  me  nicely. 

Mrs.  O'Flynn  asleep  is  like  peace  after  war. 
Dressing  in  stealth,  I  prayed  for  peace  in  our  time, 
then  with  a  sweet  enjoyment  of  fresh  guilt,  stole 
out  into  the  sunshine. 

Instead  of  Jesse's  whistling,  Mick's  barking,  the 
altercations  in  the  new  ram-pasture  where  our  cow- 
boys live,  the  snuffles  of  old  Jones,  our  yard  was 
filled  with  the  exact  opposite.  Of  course  each 
sound  has  its  opposite,  its  shadow,  making  a  gap  in 
the  chorus  of  things  heard,  and  when  all  the  homely 
voices  are  replaced  by  gaps,  one  feels  the  desolation 
of  the  high  lonesome.  Yet  I  fled  away  lest  the  wid- 
ow's vengeful  stump  should  overtake  me.  I  was  so 
tired  of  being  in  bed. 


NATIVITY  227 

The  silver  spring,  the  glade  of  marigolds,  the 
brier-rose  brake,  are  all  most  necessary  before  one 
ventures  into  the  cathedral  grove,  for  it  is  not  well 
to  pass  direct  from  any  worldly  home  into  a  holy 
place.  And  yet  I  felt  that  something  was  badly 
wrong,  for  evil  persons  must  have  come  in  the  night 
and  stretched  the  trail  to  double  its  usual  length.  I 
was  very  angry,  and  I  shall  tell  my  husband. 

I  reached  the  grove,  at  this  cool  hour  so  like  a 
green  lagoon  where  coral  piers  branch  up  to  some 
ribbed  vault.  The  waves  of  incense,  the  river's 
organ  throb,  the  glory  in  the  windows,  gave  me 
peace,  but  the  choir  of  the  winds  had  gone  away, 
and  for  once  in  that  sweet  solitude  I  was  lonely. 
My  sitting  is  at  the  root  of  the  governess  tree,  and 
Jesse's  under  the  great  father  pine.  If  he  were 
only  there,  how  it  would  ease  the  pain.  I  needed 
him  so  badly  as  I  sat  there,  trying  to  make  him 
present  in  my  thoughts.  He  had  gone  away,  and 
the  squirrel  who  lives  in  the  widow  tree,  had  taken 
even  his  match  ends.  Only  the  cigar  stubs  were 
left,  which  would,  of  course,  be  bad  for  the  squirrel's 
children.  I  wasn't  well  enough  to  call  but  I  left 
my  nut. 


228  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Close  by  is  the  terrific  verge  of  the  inner  canon, 
and  sitting  at  the  very  edge  of  death  I  saw  into  the 
mists. 

It  was  so  foolish,  why  should  I  be  frightened  of 
death,  such  a  coward  in  bearing  pain?  And  yet  I 
had  better  confess  the  truth,  that  presently  I  ran 
away  screaming,  my  skirt  torn  by  brambles,  my  feet 
caught  in  the  roots.  Only  when  I  passed  the  place 
where  by  anemones  live,  and  beyond  the  east  door 
of  the  grove  came  out  into  full  sunlight,  I  could  go 
no  farther  but  fell  to  the  ground  exhausted.  Yes, 
it  was  very  silly,  and  that  blind  panic  shamed  me  as 
I  looked  up  at  the  crescent  of  silvery  birch  trees 
who  hold  court  at  the  foot  of  the  upper  cliff. 

Something  small  and  black  was  coming  toward 
me,  a  clergyman  too,  and  nervous,  because  he  twid- 
dled his  little  hat. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  he  asked. 

"Are  you  a  fairy?"  I  answered,  wondering.  I 
couldn't  think  of  anything  else  at  the  moment,  for 
our  lost  ranch  is  so  far  from  everywhere. 

"No,  madam,"  he  said  quite  gravely.  "I'm  only  a 
curate.    May  I  sit  down?" 

My  heart  went  out  to  him,  for  he  was  so  little,  so 
old,  English  like  me,  but  with  the  manner  of  the 


NATIVITY  229 

great  world.  When  he  sat  down  he  took  care  not  to 
hurt  one  of  my  flowers. 

"1  fear  I'm  trespassing,"  he  said,  "in  your  royal 
gardens.  May  I  introduce  myself?  My  name  is 
Nisted — Jared  Nisted,  once  an  army  chaplain,  now 
a  tourist." 

Was  he  real,  or  had  I  imagined  him?  "My  name 
is  Kate,"  I  answered.  "My  husband  would  be  ever 
so  pleased  to  make  you  welcome.     But  he's  away." 

"And  are  you  lonely?" 

"Not  now."  Somehow  the  pain  and  fear  were 
gone  as  though  they  dared  not  stay  in  the  serene 
presence  of  this  dear  old  saint.  "Are  you  sure,"  I 
ventured,  "that  you're  not  a — " 

"Fairy?  Believe  me,  dear  lady,  I'm  a  very  com- 
monplace little  person. 

"A  humble  admirer  of  yours,  one  Tearful  George, 
has  been  kind  enough  to  bring  me  here  in  his  buck- 
board,  which  has  complaining  wheels,  a  creaky 
body,  and  such  a  wheezy  horse.  He,  Tearful 
George  I  mean,  contracted  for  seventy-five  dollars 
to  bring  me  to  paradise  and  back;  but  as  we  creaked 
our  passage  through  that  weird  black  forest,  I 
feared  my  guide  had  taken  the  pathway  which  leads 
to  the   other   place.      I    confess,   the   upper   forest 


230  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

frightened  me,  and  now,  having  come  to  paradise,  I 
don't  want  to  go  back."  He  sighed.  "George,"  he 
added,  "is  making  camp  up  yonder.  Mrs.  Smith,  will 
you  laugh  at  me  very  much  if  I  tell  you  a  fairy 
tale?   It's  quite  a  nice  one." 

"Oh,  do !"  I  begged. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "you  know  where  the  three 
birch  trees  are  all  using  a  single  pool  as  their  mir- 
ror?" 

Of  course  these  were  the  Three  Graces.  Mrs. 
O'Flynn  and  I  had  known  for  months  past  that  the 
spot  was  haunted, 

"Each  of  them,"  said  my  visitor,  "seems  to  think 
the  others  quite  superfluous." 

That  was  true.    I  asked  him  if  any  one  was  there. 

"A  lady,  yes." 

"That's  the  minx,"  I  whispered.  "She's  a  fairy. 
But  don't  tell  my  husband.  You  know  he  laughs  at 
me  for  being  so  superstitious." 

"Indeed  Fact  is,  Mrs.  Smith,  she  was  bathing, 
and  George  insisted,  most  stupidly  I  think,  on  wa- 
tering his  horse  at  that  pool.  I  mounted  guard, 
with  my  back  turned,  of  course,  and  tried  to  per- 
suade the  good  man  to  water  his  horse  elsewhere. 
He  couldn't  see  any  sanguinary  lady  in  the  rosy 


NATIVITY  231 

pool,  and  you  know  the  poor  fellow  has  but  a  very- 
meager  choice  of  words.  He  reviled  me,  and  my 
progenitors,  and  if  you'll  believe  me,  my  dear 
mother  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  person  George  de- 
scribed. He  made  me  feel  so  plain,  too,  with  his 
candor  about  my  personal  appearance.  And  all  that 
time,  while  George  made  my  flesh  creep  with  his, 
comments,  the  lady  in  the  pool  was  splashing  me. 
I'm  still  quite  damp." 

"Did  the  horse  see?" 

"Do  horses  wink,  Mrs,  Smith?  Do  they  smile? 
Can  they  blush?  The  Graces  shook  their  robes 
above  our  heads,  the  squirrels  gossiped,  the  rippled 
pool  caught  glints  from  the  rising  sun,  and  a  flight 
of  humming-birds  came  whirring,  as  though  they 
had  been  thrown  in  George's  face.  Them  sanguin- 
ary birds,  he  said,  was  always  getting  in  the  ruddy 
way.  As  to  the  old  horse,  he  kicked  up  his  heels 
and  pranced  off  sidewise  down  the  glen,  and  the 
man  followed,  rumbling  benedictions." 

I  explained  that  my  dear  husband  can  not  see  the 
minx,  that  my  servant  dare  not  look. 

"I  doubt,"  said  Father  Jared,  with  regret,  "that 
very  few  fairies  nowadays  are  superstitious  enough 
to  believe  in  us  poor  mortals." 


232  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

For  that  I  could  have  kissed  him. 

"They  used,"  the  dear  old  man  went  on,  "to  be- 
lieve in  our  forefathers,  but  there  is  a  very  general 
decline  of  faith.  It  is  not  for  us  to  blame  them. 
What  fairy,  for  example,  could  be  expected  to  be- 
lieve in  Tearful  George?     He  chews  tobacco." 

"Oh,  tell  me  more  about  her.  Did  she  speak  to 
you  ?  She's  fearfully  dangerous.  We  had  a  ranch- 
hand  here  who  went  quite  fey,  possessed,  I  think. 
I'm  frightened  of  her  now." 

"She  thinks,"  he  retorted,  "that  you're  a  wicked 
woman." 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you.  She  said  you  would  run  away,  and 
you  did.     I  am  to  tell  you  that's  very  unwise." 

"Please  tell  the  minx  to  mind  her  own  business." 

"What  is  her  business?"  he  asked  mildly. 

"Being  a  fairy,  I  suppose.  I'll  never  forgive  he.'* 
for  what  she  did  to  Billy.  Besides,"  I  added,  "she 
makes  fun  of  us." 

"No  wonder,  for  we  humans  are  so  stupid." 

"She's  full  of  mischief." 

"Of  course."  The  old  man's  eyes  twinkled  and 
blinked  as  though — I  can't  set  words  to  fit  that  puz- 
zled memory.     He  had  told  me  twice  that  he  was  not 


NATIVITY  233 

a  fairy.  "I  am  to  tell  you  from  my  lady,  that  she 
is  not  the  minx.  Winds,  waves,  and  living  things," 
he  said,  "are  full  of  mischief  and  laughter.  The 
sun  has  room  to  sparkle  even  in  a  tear,  and  Heaven 
touches  our  lips  with  every  smile,  for  joy  is  holy. 
Spirits,  angels,  fairies,  are  only  thoughts  which 
have  caught  the  light  celestial,  mirror-thoughts 
which  shine  in  Heaven's  glory.  Children,  and  happy 
people  see  that  light,  which  never  shines  on  any 
clouded  soul." 

"My  soul  is  clouded.     Help  me." 

"I  wonder,"  he  smiled  with  his  old  kind  eyes. 
"Have  you  a  sense  of  humor?  Ah, — there.  Then 
you  need  never  worry,  or  run  away.  As  sunshine 
and  rain  are  to  the  dear  earth,  so  are  laughter  and 
tears  to  every  living  soul.  Humor,  dear,  is  the 
weather  in  which  the  spirit  lives." 

"But  sorrow  and  tears?" 

"Why,  how  can  the  sun  make  rainbows  without 
rain?" 

"You'll  praise  pain  next!" 

"That  is  a  sacrament,"  he  answered  gravely,  "the 
outward  sign  of  inward  grace.  For  how  else  can 
God  reach  through  selfishness  down  to  the  soul  in 
need?" 


234  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

My  pain  had  come  back,  but  it  was  welcome  now. 

On  the  left  were  the  solemn  pines,  and  at  their 
feet  white  flowers;  on  the  right  were  my  fair  birch 
trees ;  and  the  glade  between  lay  in  warm  sunshine. 

"Lift  up  your  hearts,"  whispered  the  priest,  and 
I  saw  my  trees,  which  in  winter  storm  and  summer 
sun  alike  show  their  brave  faces  to  the  changing  sky. 

"We  lift  them  up  unto  the  Lord,"  they  seemed  to 
answer. 

"It  is  very  meet,  right,  and  our  bounden  duty," 
he  responded,  then  looked  as  it  seemed  into  my  very 
soul. 

I  saw  the  dear  priest's  face  through  tears,  but 
when  I  brushed  them  away  the  mist  remained.  He 
seemed  remote,  awful,  and  beautiful. 

"There  is  a  place,"  he  said,  "where  souls  await- 
ing incarnation,  rest,  and  from  that  place  they  come, 
borne  by  messengers.  A  messenger  was  waiting  in 
these  woods,  no  evil  spirit,  my  daughter,  but  one 
who  came  bearing  a  child  to  you.  She  stands  au- 
gust and  lovely  at  your  back,  and  in  her  arms  the 
soul  of  a  man-child,  just  on  the  verge  of  incarna- 
tion, waits  at  the  boundary  of  the  spirit  land. 

"  'The  light  shineth  in  darkness;  and  the  darkness 
comprehended  it  not.' 


NATIVITY  235 

"That  light  is  all  around  you,  and  I  must  go. 
This  very  ground  is  holy.     Fare  you  well." 

H;  H<  *  sK  *  Hi  * 

Two  days  had  passed  since  my  dear  Jesse  left, 
then  through  the  long  day  I  waited  in  the  house, 
and  the  blue  gloom  of  night  swept  up  the  glowing 
cliff.  It  was  then  I  heard  the  signal  shot  from  the 
rim- rock,  and  told  my  baby  David  that  his  father 
was  coming  home. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    LOCKED    HOUSE 

Jesse's  Memoir 

THE  book  of  our  adventures  which  we  began 
together,  was  to  go  on  through  all  our  years. 
We  were  too  young  to  think  how  it  must  some  time 
finish  at  our  parting,  that  one  of  us  two  was  to  be 
left,  with  only  the  broken  end,  the  pity  of  Christ,  and 
every  word  a  stabbing  memory. 

Since  I  lost  Kate  is  four  years  to-night,  and  in 
all  that  time  till  now,  I  never  dared  to  enter  the 
house  where  once  she  lived  with  me,  her  poor  fool 
Jesse.  To-day,  I  unlocked  the  door.  The  sunlight, 
glinting  through  chinks  in  the  boarded  windows, 
fell  in  long  dust-streaks  on  rat-eaten  furniture,  gray 
cobweb,  scattered  ashes.  There  was  the  puppy 
piano,  green  with  mold,  her  work-basket,  half  eaten, 
her  writing-table  littered  with  rat-gnawed  paper. 
The  pages  are  yellow,  the  ink  Is  rusty  brown,  but  the 

236 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  237 

past  is  alive  in  every  line,  the  living  past,  the  sunny 
warm-scented  land  of  memory,  all  full  of  love  and 
glory  and  delight,  and  agony  which  can  not  be 
taken  from  me. 

If  she  were  here  with  me  in  the  old  log  cabin, 
she  should  not  see  me  mourning,  or  afraid  to  face 
the  past,  or  dreading  to  set  an  end  to  our  book. 
She  expected  courage,  and  I  will  face  it  out,  write 
the  last  chapter  in  our  Book  of  Life,  then  bury  it  all, 
lest  any  one  should  see.  I  warm  and  burn  my  hands 
at  the  fires  of  memory,  and  if  the  fine  sweet  pain 
were  taken  from  me,  what  should  I  have  left  but 
cobweb,  and  ashes,  dust,  and  the  smell  of  rats. 

How  wonderful  it  is  to  think  that  a  great  lady, 
and  this  ignorant  callous  brute  shown  up  in  the 
rotted  manuscript,  should  ever  have  been  man  and 
wife  together!  When  I  think  of  what  I  was — illit- 
erate, slovenly,  lazy,  selfish,  brutal,  meanly  jealous, 
ignorantly  cruel,  I  see  how  it  was  right  that  she 
should  leave  me.  It  has  taken  me  bitter  lonely 
years  to  realize  that  I  was  unworthy  to  be  her  serv- 
ant while  she  tamed  me.  So  much  the  greater  mys- 
tery is  the  love  which  made  amends  for  my  short- 
comings, made  her  think  me  better  than  I  was,  a 
something  for  which  she  sacrificed  herself,  and  in 


238  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

self-sacrifice  became  like  the  great  angels  which  she 
saw  in  dreams. 

Then  came  the  letter  from  Polly  herself,  which 
sent  me  crazy,  so  that  my  lady  read  every  word  of 
it,  without  being  warned. 

"Opium,  Jesse,  an  overdose  of  opium  did  the  trick, 
and  paint  to  make  me  look  like  a  corpse,  and  blood 
from  the  butcher's  shop  poured  over  my  face  as  I  laid 
there.  You  was  no  husband  for  such  as  me  with 
Brooke  around,  the  man  I'd  kept.  Shucks,  did  ye 
think  I'd  be  such  a  puke  as  to  set,  with  yer  dead-line 
round  me,  screaming  if  men  came  near,  with  all  Abi- 
lene grinning,  and  you  drunk  as  Noah?  That  was  no 
way  to  treat  a  lady.  That  was  no  cinch  for  me  as 
could  buy  cow-boys,  all  I'd  a  mind  to.  Pshaw,  it 
makes  me  sick  at  the  stummick  to  think  I  married 
you.     I  only  done  it  for  a  joke. 

"But  you  jest  mark  my  words  on  the  dead  thiev- 
ing, no  foreign  woman  from  London,  England,  shall 
have  you  while  you're  mine.  I  heerd  of  this  Mrs. 
Trevor  daring  to  call  you  her  husband.  She's  not 
your  wife,  she's  not  Mrs.  Jesse  Smith,  she's  not  a 
married  woman,  but  a  poor  thing,  and  her  child, 
what's  he?  I've  had  my  revenge  on  her,  and  you, 
and  I'm  coming  to  rub  it  in.  I'm  at  Ashcroft,  I  am, 
coming  on  the  same  coach  as  this  letter,  coming  to 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  239 

live  in  your  home.  If  I  don't  love  you,  no  other 
woman  shall.  It's  Fancy  Brooke,  the  man  you  calls 
Bull  Durham,  what  give  you  dead  away,  he,  and 
the  news  he  got  by  mail,  since  you  let  him  get  off 
alive,  you  fool.    That  ought  to  splash  yer. 

"And  if  I  didn't  love,  d'ye  reckon  that  I'd  care? 
"Your  deserted  true  wife, 

"Polly  Smith. 
"P.  S.— I'll  be  to  your  ranch  Monday." 


Kate's  Narrative 

My  husband  was  still  at  dinner  when  we  heard  a 
horseman  come  thundering  in,  the  old  cargador, 
Pete  Mathson,  spurring  a  weary  horse  across  the 
yard.  Jesse  took  the  letter,  and  while  he  read,  I 
had  a  strange  awful  impression  of  days,  months, 
years  passing,  a  whirlwind  of  time.  My  man  was 
growing  old  before  my  eyes,  and  it  is  true  that  with- 
in a  few  hours  his  hair  was  flecked  with  silver. 
When  the  letter  fell  from  his  hands  he  walked  away, 
making  no  sound  at  all. 

I  sat  on  my  little  stool  and  took  the  letter.  The 
paper  felt  like  something  very  offensive,  so  that  I 
had  to  force  myself  to  read,  and  even  then  without 


240  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

understanding  one  word,  I  went  and  washed  my 
hands  and  face,  why  I  don't  know,  except  that  it 
was  better  not  to  make  a  scene.  I  came  back  to  my 
stool. 

Pete  stood  in  the  doorway  very  nervous  about  his 
hat,  as  though  he  tried  to  hide  it  away.  I  remember 
telling  him  quite  gravely  that  I  like  to  see  a  hat. 

"Cap  Taylor,  ma'am,"  he  was  saying,  "told  me  to 
get  here  first  by  the  horse  trail,  so  I  rode  hell-for- 
leather.     They'll  be  another  hour  comin'  by  road." 

"Another  hour?" 

"A  stranger's  driving.     Mebbe  more'n  an  hour." 

Then  Jesse  came  back. 

******* 

Jesse's  Narrative 

I  found  my  lady  seated  on  her  stool,  that  letter 
in  her  hands,  while  Pete,  uneasy,  clicked  his  spurs 
in  the  doorway.     I  asked  if  he'd  take  a  message. 

"Burning  the  trail,"  he  said. 

"Say,  if  she  comes,  I'll  kill  her." 

"Not  that,"  my  lady  whispered,  so  I  knelt  down 
by  her,  and  she  stroked  my  forehead. 

"I  didn't  catch  your  words,"  said  Pete. 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  241 

"Promise,"  my  lady  whispered,  "there  must  be 
no  murder." 

"Tell  her,  Pete,"  said  I,  "there'll  be  no  murder. 
I  can't  let  her  off  with  that — give  her  fair  warning." 

Pete  rode  away  slow. 

"Wife,"  I  whispered — we  spoke  In  whispers,  be- 
cause it  was  the  end  of  the  world  to  us  two — "you 
trust  me?" 

She  kissed  my  forehead. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "one  thing.  Polly  was  not 
dead?" 

"She  shammed  dead.  She's  alive,  Kate.  She's 
coming  here.  Take  David  away.  Take  him  to 
South  Cave,  to  Father  Jared's  camp."  ^ 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Lock  the  house  before  it's  defiled." 

"And  then,  dear?" 

"When  she's  gone,  I'll  come  to  the  cave,  too." 

Kate  took  David,  letting  me  kiss  him,  letting  me 
kiss  her,  even  knowing  everything,  let  me  take  her 
into  my  arms.  She  was  very  white,  very  quiet.  She 
even  remembered  to  take  her  servant,  and  the  two 
Chinamen,  making  some  excuse  to  get  them  away. 
I  locked  the  house  and  the  old  cabin.  Then  I  made 
the  long  call  to   Ephrata,   and  went  to  the  Apex 


242  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Rock,  calling  until  he  answered  from  among  the 
dog-tooth  violets.  He  climbed  straight  up  the  steep 
rocks,  whimpering,  because  I'd  scarcely  called  him 
once  in  fourteen  months.  He  rubbed  against  me, 
forgetting  he  hefted  eleven  hundred  pounds,  and 
I  had  to  scratch  his  neck  before  we  started  up  to  the 
house,  then  to  the  left  along  the  wagon  track  just 
past  Cathedral  Grove. 

The  wagon  was  swinging  round  the  end  of  the 
grove  at  a  canter,  and  when  I  let  out  a  yell  for  the 
last  warning,  the  woman  only  snatched  at  the 
driver's  whip  to  flog  the  team  faster.  Then  I  turned 
loose  my  bear,  he  rearing  up  nine  feet  or  so  to  in- 
spect that  outfit. 

The  horses  shied  into  the  air,  then  off  at  a  gallop 
straight  for  the  edge  of  the  cliffs.  The  woman  was 
shot  out  as  the  wagon  overturned,  the  driver  caught 
for  a  moment  while  his  wagon  went  to  match-wood. 
He  lay  in  the  wreckage  stunned,  but  the  horses  went 
blind  crazy,  takir^g  that  twelve  hundred  feet  leap 
into  the  Eraser  Rapids.  So  I  had  aimed,  and  as  I'd 
promised  my  lady  to  do  no  murder,  I  kept  my  bear 
beside  me. 

The  driver  was  awake  and  staggering  to  his  feet. 
He  would  have  talked,  only  my  bear  was  with  me, 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  243 

hard  to  hold  by  the  roach  hair.  The  man  needed 
no  telling,  and  after  he  escaped  from  my  ranch, 
I  did  not  see  him  there  in  the  years  which  followed. 
The  woman,  standing  in  the  wreckage  of  her 
trunks,  wanted  to  talk.  We  herded  her,  Eph  and 
I,  to  the  foot  of  the  pack-trail,  which  leads  up  by 
steep  jags  to  the  rim-rock  of  the  upper  cliffs,  then 
on  through  the  black  pines  to  Hundred  Mile.  We 
herded  her  up  the  pack-trail,  my  bear  and  I,  and 
pointed  her  on  her  way,  alone,  afoot.  If  she  lived 
through  that  eighty  miles,  she  would  remember  the 
way,  the  way  which  is  barred. 

:{:  H:  H(  N:  ^  ^  ^ 

Kate's  Narrative 

I  was  waiting  for  Jesse  until  the  low  sun  shone 
Into  the  cave.  All  that  letter,  which  had  been  a 
blur  of  horror,  cleared  now  before  my  mind,  but 
Father  Jared  held  me  by  the  hands,  drawing  the 
pain  away.  He  had  given  me  tea,  he  had  made  me 
a  very  throne  of  comfort  in  front  of  his  camp-fire. 
David  slept  in  my  lap,  and  now  while  the  dear  saint 
held  my  hands,  and  I  looked  through  the  smoke  out 
toward  the  setting  sun,  he  spoke  of  quaint  sweet  do- 
ings In  his  hermitage.     He  spoke  as  a  worldly  an- 


244  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

chorite  with  a  portable  bath,  of  his  clumsy  attempts 
to  patch  a  worn-out  cassock,  and  how  the  squirrels 
tried  to  superintend  his  prayers  at  even-song.  Then 
the  sun  caught  the  walls  of  the  cave  and  the  roof  to 
glowmg  beryl  and  ethereal  ruby,  the  smoke  was  a 
T.pse-hued  thread  of  light,  and  the  deep  canon  at 
our  feet  filled  with  a  shadowy  sea  of  flooding  ame- 
thyst. 

"Kate,  it  is  even-song.  We  see  the  steep  way  of 
to-morrow's  journey,  the  pain  and  sorrow  from  here 
to  the  next  hill.  But  presently  our  way  shall  be  re- 
vealed from  star  to  star.  We  pass  from  earthly 
sunshine  and  fretted  time,  into  the  timeless  ageless 
glory  of  the  heavens.  We  sleep  in  Heaven,  and 
when  we  wake  again  we  rise  filled  with  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Eternal  to  put  immortal  power  into  our 
daily  service." 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  first  star  just  shone  out, 
as  Jesse  came,  standing  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
dark  against  the  glory.     I  could  not  see  his  face. 

The  father  released  me,  turning  to  my  dear  man. 
"Jesse,"  he  said,  "won't  you  shake  hands  with  me? 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "I  made  a  mistake  myself, 
thinking  a  priest  should  be  celibate  to  win  love  from 
on  high.    But  in  its  fullest  strength  God's  love  comes 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  245 

through  a  woman  to  shine  upon  our  life — and  so 
I've  missed  the  greatest  of  His  gifts.  Your  wife  has 
told  me  everything,  and  I'm  so  envious.  Won't  you 
shake  hands?     I've  been  so  lonely.     Won't  you?" 

But  my  man  stood  in  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  as 
though  he  were  being  judged. 

"This  filth,"  he  said,  "out  of  the  past.  Filth !" 

His  voice  sounded  as  though  he  were  dead. 

"The  law,"  he  said.  "I've  come  to  find  out  what's 
the  law?" 

"Man's  law?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"But  I  don't  know.  I'm  only  a  very  ignorant  old 
man ;  your  friend,  if  you'll  have  me." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"So  far  as  I  see,  Jesse,  the  woman  can  arraign 
you  on  a  charge  of  bigamy.  Moreover,  if  you  seek 
divorce  she  can  plead  that  there's  equal  guilt,  from 
which  there's  no  release." 

"And  that's  the  law?" 

"Man's  law.  But,  Jesse,  when  you  and  Kate  were 
joined  in  holy  matrimony,  was  it  man's  law  which 
said,  'Whom  God  hath  joined,  let  no  man  put  asun- 
der.' What  has  man's  law  to  do  with  the  awful  jus- 
tice of  Almighty  God? 


246  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"And  here,  my  son,  I  am  something  more  than  a 
foolish  old  man."  He  rose  to  his  feet,  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross.  "I  am  ordained,"  he  said,  "a 
barrister  to  plead  at  the  bar  of  Heaven.  Will  you 
not  have  me  as  your  adviser,  Jesse?" 

"Whom  God  hath  joined,"  Jesse  laughed  horri- 
bly, "that  harlot  and  I." 

"She  swore  to  love,  honor  and  obey?" 

"Till  death  us  part !" 

"And  that  was  perjury?" 

"A  joke!    A  joke!" 

"That  was  not  marriage,  my  son,  but  blasphemy, 
the  sin  beyond  forgiveness.  The  piteous  lost  crea- 
ture has  never  been  your  wife.  She  tried  to  break 
her  way  into  our  poor  world  of  life  and  love.  It  is 
forbidden  and  she  was  fearfully  wounded.  To-day 
she  tried  again,  and  is  there,  in  that  forest,  with  the 
falling  night." 

"I  told  her  what  she  Is,  straight  from  the  shoul- 
der." 

"Who  made  her  so?" 

Jesse  lowered  his  head. 

"Who  made  her  the  living  accusation  of  men's 
sins?  She  Is  the  terrible  state's  evidence,  God's  ev- 
idence, which  waits  to  be  released  In  the  Day  of 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  247 

Judgment.  You  told  her  straight  from  the  shoulder. 
Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged.  Remember  that 
of  all  the  men  she  knew  on  earth,  you  only  can  plead 
not  guilty." 

"Because  I  married  her?"  asked  Jesse  humbly. 

"Because  you  tried.  You  gave  her  your  clean 
name,  your  pure  life,  your  manhood,  an  act  of 
knightly  chivalry.  Arthur,  Galahad,  Perceval, 
Launcelot,  and  many  other  gentlemen  who  are  now 
at  rest,  will  seek  your  friendship  in  the  after  life. 
You  are  being  tried  as  they  were  tried  in  that  fierce 
flame  of  temptation  which  tests  the  finest  manhood. 

"Only  a  cur  would  blame  the  weak.  Only  a  cow- 
ard v/ould  accuse  the  lost.  But  in  your  manhood 
remember  her  courage,  Jesse.  Forgive  as  you  hope 
for  pardon.  Keep  your  life  clean,  from  every  touch 
of  evil,  but  to  the  world  stand  ud  for  the  honor  of 
the  name  you  gave  her." 

"I  win." 

"You  forgive?" 

"Yes." 

"You  will  pray  for  her?" 

"I  will  pray." 

"And  now  the  hardest  test  has  still  to  come.  For 
your  wife's  honor  and  for  the  child,  you  must  keep 


248  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

their  names  stainless,  clear  of  all  reproach  while 
you  await  God's  judgment.  They  must  leave  you, 
Jesse." 

"Oh,  not  that,  sir!" 

"Can  they  stay  here  In  honor?" 

"No." 

"Can  you  run  away?" 

"Never!" 

"Then  you  must  part." 

Jesse  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  there 
against  the  deepening  twilight  I  saw  shadows  reach- 
ing out  from  him,  as  though — slowly  the  shadows 
took  form  of  high-shouldered  wings  and  mighty 
pinions  sweeping  to  the  ground. 

He  looked  up,  and  behold  he  was  changed. 

"Pray  for  me,  sir!"  he  whispered. 

Then  the  priest  raised  his  hand,  and  gave  him 
the  benedictioa 

******* 

Jesse  Closes  the  Book 

It  Is  years  now  since  my  lady  left  me.  Never 
has  an  ax  touched  her  trees,  or  any  human  creature 
entered  her  locked  house.  The  rustle  of  her  dress 
is  in  the  leaves  each  fall,  the  pines  still  echo  to  her 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  249 

voice.  I  hear  her  footsteps  over  the  new  snow,  I 
feel  her  presence  when  I  read  her  books.  I  know 
her  thoughts  are  spirits  haunting  me,  and  all  things 
wait  until  she  comes  back.  Not  until  I  lost  my  lady 
did  I  ever  hear  that  faint,  thin,  swaying  echo  when 
her  grove  seemed  to  be  humming  tunes.  At  times', 
when  dew  was  falling,  I  have  heard  the  pattering 
of  millions  and  millions  of  little  feet,  just  as  she 
said,  making  the  grass  bend. 

The  papers  often  have  pictures  of  my  lady,  the 
last  as  the  Electra  of  Euripides.  I  love  her  most 
of  all  in  the  Grecian  robes,  for  once  she  dreamed 
that  she  and  I  had  been  Greeks  in  some  lost  for- 
gotten life.  Perhaps  this  is  not  our  only  life,  or 
our  last  life,  and  we  may  be  mated  in  some  place 
yet  to  come,  where  we  shall  not  part. 

Tears  drop  on  the  paper,  and  shame  poor  fool 
Jesse.  The  Book  says  that  He  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears.  If  my  bear  had  only  lived,  I  should  not  have 
been  so  lonely.  I  wonder  if — God  help  me,  I  can't 
write  more.  The  book  is  finished. 


PART  in 


CHAPTER  I 

SPITE    HOUSE 
Kate  Reviews  the  Book 

THE  book  is  not  finished.  This  book  of  Jesse's 
life  and  mine  is  not  finished  while  she  who  set 
us  asunder  is  allowed  to  live.  "Vengeance  is  mine," 
saith  the  Lord,  "I  will  repay."    We  wait. 

What  impulse  moved  my  man  after  four  years  to 
enter  that  tragic  house?  He  read  our  book,  so  pit- 
eously  stained,  this  heap  of  paper  scrawled  with 
rusty  ink.  He  added  parts  of  a  chapter,  which  I 
have  finished.  It  is  all  blotted  with  tears,  this  rec- 
ord of  his  life — childhood,  boyhood,  youth,  man- 
hood, humor,  passion — veritable  growth  of  an 
immortal  spirit — annals  of  that  love  which  lifteth 
us  above  the  earth — and  then  ! 

What  did  the  woman  gain  who  stole  our  happi- 
ness? A  fairy  gold,  changing  to  ashes  at  the  glint 
of  day,  for  which  she  lost  her  soul. 

Caught  in  the  leaves  there  is  a  long  pine  needle. 

253 


254  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

So  it  was  among  the  bull  pines  of  Cathedral  Grove 
that  Jesse  sought  to  bury  this  record.  Then  know- 
ing that  his  life  was  not  all  his  to  bury,  he  sent  me 
this  dear  treasure,  so  breaking  the  long,  long  silence. 

How  precious  are  even  the  littlest  memories  of 
love!  Here  is  the  muddy  footprint  of  our  kitten, 
and  Jesse's  "witness  my  hand."  Here  is  a  scrap  of 
paper,  inked  and  rinsed  to  reveal  some  secret  writ- 
ing of  those  poor  outlaws.  Pages  of  wrath  from  our 
visitors'  book — and  the  long  pine  needle. 

"Belay  thar!"  as  Jesse  said.  "We're  hunting 
happiness  while  sorrow's  chasing  us.  Takes  a  keen 
muzzle  and  runaway  legs  to  catch  up  happiness, 
while  sorrow's  teeth  is  reachin'  for  yo'  tail." 

So  I  must  try  to  catch  up  happiness.  I  have  notes 
here  of  dear  Father  Jared,  made  at  the  time  when 
he  vi^as  bringing  me  with  Baby  David  home.  I  re- 
member we  sat  in  our  deck  chairs  on  the  sunny  side 
of  the  ship,  watching  a  cloud  race  out  in  mid- 
Atlantic.    We  talked  of  home. 

"You  see,  my  dear" — I  copy  from  my  notes — "we 
have  in  our  blessed  isles  an  atmosphere  lending 
glamour  to  all  things,  whether  a  woman's  skin  or  a 
slum  town.  Why,  British  portraiture  and  landscape 
are  respected,  even  by  our  own  art  critics,  and  they 


SPITE    HOUSE  255 

are  far  from  lenient."  I  replied  that  I  wanted  air, 
air  for  King  David. 

"Now  when  we  come  to  air,  that's  very  serious. 
North  of  the  Tweed  the  air  produces  Scotchness, 
across  St.  George's  Channel  it  makes  Irishness. 
Then  in  the  principality  of  Wales  it  makes  most  peo- 
ple Welsh,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Yarkshire  vintage, 
or  Zummerzet,  or  the  'umble  'omes  of  the  East 
Anglians." 

"But  that's  not  what  I  mean.  Some  places  are 
so  relaxing." 

"Or  bracing,  or  just  damp,  eh?  Do  you  know, 
my  dear,  that  at  Frognall  End  mushrooms  are  four- 
pence  a  pound." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Are  you  sure?"  The  delicious  fairy-look  came 
to  his  eyes.  "Of  course  they  prefer  the  Russian 
kind  of  mushrooms  with  red  tops — warmer  to  sit 
on.  That's  why  they  love  Russia,  and  Russian 
hearts  stay  young.  And  besides,  they  like  to  live 
where  people  are  really  and  truly  superstitious. 

"That's  what's  so  wrong  with  England.  Ah, 
these  board  schools !  I  want  to  dig  up  all  the 
board  schools  and  plant  red  mushrooms.  Then, 
of  course,  the  fairies  will   each   have  an  endowed 


256  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

mushroom,  the  children  will  be  properly  taught  how 
to  stay  young,  and  we  shall  live  happily  ever  after- 
ward. 

"Do  you  know  I  called  on  the  prime  minister, 
and,  politics  apart,  he's  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow.  We 
quite  agreed,  especially  about  drowning  the  Board 
of  Education,  but  then  the  nonconformist  con- 
science would  get  shocked,  while  as  to  the  treasury 
■ — bigots,  my  dear,  are  getting  more  bigotty  every 
day." 

I  was  getting  mixed. 

"So  you  see,  Kate,  with  mushrooms  at  fourpence 
a  pound,  it  stands  to  reason  that  they're  very  plenti- 
ful at  Frognall  End,  with  fairies  in  strict  propor- 
tion :  one  mushroom — one  fairy,  that  is  in  English 
weather.  In  a  dry  season,  of  course,  they  can  sit  on 
the  ground,  although  it  wouldn't  be  quite  the  thing; 
whereas  in  wet  weather  they  really  require  their 
mushrooms — and  you  know  they're  much  too  care- 
less to  clear  up  afterward.  Yes,  at  Frognall  End 
young  David  vv^ould  get  what  modern  children  need 
so  very  badly — some  wholesome  uneducation." 

This  the  father  explained  in  all  its  branches. 

1.  Consider  the  lilies. 

2.  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow. 


SPITE    HOUSE  257 

3.  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  the  pure,  the 
merciful,  the  peacemakers. 

4.  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me. 
"You    see,"    he    added    wistfully,    "the    churches 

have  to  preach  a  heap  of  doctrines  piled  twenty  cen- 
turies high — with  truth  squashed  flat  beneath.  The 
poor  are  very  worrisome,  too,  and  there's  such  a  lot 
of  heathen  to  convert.  Why,  all  of  our  educated 
people  belong  to  societies  for  reforming  their  neigh- 
bors, and  yet — and  yet — well,  fairies  have  a  nicer 
time  than  curates." 

Frognall  End,  where  my  saint  Is  curate-in- 
charge,  is  on  the  river  near  Windsor,  and  there  I 
went  to  live  with  Baby  David.  It  was  there  I 
learned  that  heartache  is  a  cultivated  plant  not 
known  along  the  hedge-rows,  that  peace  may  be 
found  as  long  as  the  gorse  blooms,  that  love  grows 
lustiest  where  it  has  least  soil.  For  the  rest,  please 
see  the  Reverend  Jared  Nisted's  Fairyland  which  is 
full  of  most  important  information  for  all  who  are 
weary  and  heavy-laden.  Its  text  is  from  the  Logia 
of  Christ :  "Raise  the  stone,  and  thou  shalt  find  Me; 
cleave  the  wood  and  I  am  there." 

From  the  first  my  Heaven-born  was  interested  in 
milk,  later  in  a  growing  nurnber  of  worldly  things, 


258  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

but  it  was  not  until  last  winter  by  the  fireside  that 
we  really  had  serious  tales  all  about  Wonderland. 
It's  a  difficult  place  to  reach,  but  when  you  get  down 
the  cliff,  and  feel  your  neck  to  make  quite  sure  it's 
not  broken,  you  come  to  the  witch  who  has  a  wooden 
leg.  She  lives  in  the  Dust  House,  where  the  Dust 
Fairies  want  to  sleep,  only  she  will  worry  them  with 
her  broom.  When  they  are  worried,  they  dance 
with  the  Sunbeam  Fairy  who  comes  in  through  the 
window,  and  never  breaks  the  glass. 

There's  a  fairy  mare  called  Jones,  who  lost  her 
Christian  name  in  a  fit  of  temper,  and  always 
searches  for  it  with  her  hind  legs.  There's  a  fairy 
bear  who  is  not  a  truly  grizzly,  though  he  does  live 
in  a  grizzly  bear  skin  even  when  it's  ever-so-hot 
weather.  He's  a  great  hunter,  too,  and  likes  sports- 
men so  much  that  they  keep  getting  fewer,  and 
fewer,  and  FEWER.  The  last  sportsman  was  a  fairy 
Doctor  called  McGee,  who  perched  all  day  long  in  a 
tree,  like  the  fowls-of-the-air,  practising  bird-calls, 
while  the  fairy  bear  sat  underneath  taking  care  of 
his  rifle. 

Wonderland  is  full  of  stories,  especially  about 
Mr.  Man.  When  Mr.  Man  was  stolen  away  by 
robbers,  and  tied  up  with  fiddle-strings  In  a  ferry- 


SPITE    HOUSE  259 

house,  well — David  flatly  refused  to  go  to  bed  until 
we'd  come  to  the  ferry  across  Dream  River. 

David's  dog  came  of  an  alliance  between  two 
noble  families,  so  his  name  is  Whiskers  Retriever- 
Dachshund,  Esq.,  P.  T.  O.  David's  cat,  who  died 
expensively  in  a  pail  of  cream,  was  Mrs.  Bull  Dur- 
ham. Ginger  was  a  squirrel  in  the  garden,  and  the 
dago  was  a  badger  who  lived  a  long  way  off  be- 
yond the  grumpy  cow.  Dog,  cat,  squirrel  and 
badger  were  all  of  them  robbers,  but  David  would 
have  been  quite  wretched  if  he  had  caught  them 
doing  anything  dishonest. 

Did  I  mention  Mr.  Man?  He  was  a  hero  who 
lived  in  fairyland,  and  didn't  believe  in  fairies, 
who  spoke  with  a  slow,  sweet,  Texan  drawl,  who 
loved  and  protected  all  living  creatures  except  poli- 
ticians, who  believed  in  God,  in  Mother  England, 
and  in  Uncle  Sam,  and  who  always  wrote  long  let- 
ters to  his  mother.  David  said  his  funny  prayers 
for  mother,  and  Whiskers,  and  all  kind  friends 
"and  make  me  good  like  Mr.  Man  in  Wonderland. 
Amen.    Now,  tell  me  some  wobbers,  mummie." 

Although  David  has  decided  to  be  a  tram  con- 
ductor, he  still  takes  some  little  interest  in  other 
walks  of  life.     Once  on  the  tow-path  he  asked  an 


26o  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

old  gentleman  who  was  fishing,  what  he  was  fishing 
for,  and  got  the  nice  reply:  "I  often  wonder."  And 
it  was  on  this  path  beside  the  Thames,  that  one  day 
last  November  he  made  a  big  friendship.  His  nurse 
was  passing  a  few  remarks  with  a  young  man  who 
asked  the  way  to  my  house,  and  baby  went  ahead 
pursuing  his  lawful  occasions.  Curious  to  know 
what  it  felt  like  to  be  a  real  fish,  he  was  stepping 
into  the  river  to  see  about  it,  when  the  young  man 
interfered. 

"Leggo  my  tail,"  said  David  wrathfully,  then 
with  sudden  defiance,  "I  got  my  feet  wet  anyway, 
so  there!" 

"That's  so,"  the  young  man  agreed. 

"I  say,"  David  grew  confident.  "Mummie  says 
it's  in  the  paper,  so  it's  all  right." 

"What's  that,  sonny?" 

"A  little  boy  what  went  In  to  see  about  some 
fishes,  and  that  man  what  swum  and  swum,  and  I 
saw'd  his  picture  in  the  paper.  So  now  'tend  you 
look  de  udder  way." 

"Why,  I  can't  see  nothen." 

"You  can  see.  The  game  is  for  me  to  jump  in, 
and  you  swim." 

"But  I  can't  swim.     I'm  a  sailor." 


SPITE    HOUSE  261 

"Oh,  weally  ?    Then  what's  your  name?" 

"It's  Billy  O'Flynn." 

"No,  but  that's  weally  my  guinea-pig,  the  pink 
one — Billy  O'Flynn.     You're  not  a  fairy,  Billy?" 

"Why,  what  does  you  know  about  fairies?" 

"Most  truthfully,  you  know,  I  don't  believe  in 
fairies,  but  then  it  pleases  mummie." 

So  Billy  sat  on  his  heel  making  friends  with  the 
heaven-born,  and  Patsy,  the  nurse,  came  behind 
him,  craving  with  cotton-gloved  hands  to  touch  the 
sailor's  crisp,  short,  golden  hair,  and  David  gravely 
tried  on  the  man's  peaked  cap. 

"Yes,"  Billy  agreed,  "fairies  is  rot  when  there's 
real  gals  about,  with  rosy  cheeks  a-blushin'  an'  cot- 
xion  gloves." 

"Lawks!  'Ow  you  sailors  does  fancy  yourselves," 
said  Patsy,  her  shy  fingers  drawn  by  that  magnetic 
gold  of  the  man's  hair. 

"Climb  on  my  back  and  ride,"  said  young 
O'Flynn  to  David,  "I'll  be  a  fairy  horse." 

"The  cheek  of  'im !"  jeered  Patsy,  "fairy  'orse 
indeed!" 

Oh,  surely  the  fairies  were  very  busy  about  them, 
tugging  at  heartstrings,  while  Billy  and  Patsy  fell 
head  over  ears  in  love,  and  my  pet  cupid  had  them 


262  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

both  for  slaves.  David  rode  Billy  home,  by  his 
august  command  straight  into  my  brown  study, 
where  I  sat  in  my  lazy  chair. 

Was  it  my  voice  telling  baby  to  go  and  get  dry 
feet?  Was  it  my  hand  grasping  Billy's  horny  paw? 
For  I  heard  my  roaring  canon,  saw  my  cliffs,  my 
embattled  sculptured  cliffs,  and  once  more  seemed 
to  walk  with  Jesse  in  Cathedral  Grove.  I  could 
hear  my  dear  man,  speaking  across  the  years,  "Say, 
youngster,  when  you  sawed  off  that  table  leg  to  make 
your  mother's  limb,  what  did  you  do  with  the  cas- 
ter?" 

I  laughed,  I  cried.  Oh,  yes,  of  course  I  made  a 
fool  of  myself.  For  this  dear  lad  came  out  of  Won- 
derland, this  heedless  ruffian  who  knew  of  my  sec- 
ond marriage,  who  had  such  a  tale  to  tell  of  "Ma- 
dame Scotson."  Oh,  haven't  you  heard?  Her  pre- 
cious Baby  David  is  illegitimate!  Couldn't  I  hear 
my  neighbor,  Mrs.  Pollock,  telling  that  story  at  the 
Scandal  Club?  Then  a  discreet  paragraph  from 
Magpie  in  Home  Truths  would  be  libel  enough  to 
brand  a  public  singer.  My  mother  would  suggest 
ever  so  ^^ntXy  that  in  the  interests  of  the  family,  my 
retirement  to  a  warmer  climate — say  Italy,  would 
be   so    suitable.      And    madame's    illegitimate    son 


SPITE    HOUSE  263 

would  be  barred  from  decent  schools.     Oh,  I  could 
see  it  alii 

With  his  pea-jacket  thrown  open,  wiping  his 
flushed  face  with  a  red  handkerchief,  shifting  from 
one  foot  to  the  other  In  torment  of  uneasiness,  blow- 
ing like  some  sea  beast  come  up  from  the  deeps  to 
breathe,  Billy  consented  not  to  run  away  from  my 
hysterics. 

Feeling  ill-bred  and  common,  I  begged  Billy's 
pardon,  made  him  sit  down,  tried  ever  so  hard  to 
put  him  at  his  ease.  Poor  lad !  His  father  con- 
demned as  a  felon,  his  mother  such  a  wicked  old 
harridan,  his  life,  to  say  the  very  least,  uncouth. 
Yet  somehow  out  of  that  rough  savage  face  shone 
the  eyes  of  a  gentleman,  and  there  was  manliness 
In  all  he  said,  in  everything  he  did.  After  that 
great  journey  for  my  sake,  how  could  I  let  him 
doubt  that  he  was  welcome? 

"I  know  I'm  rough,"  he  said  humbly,  "but  you 
seem  to  understand.  You  know  I'm  straight.  You 
won't  mind  straight  talk  unless  you're  changed,  and 
you're  not  changed — at  least  not  that  way,  mum." 
Changed!  Ah,  how  changed!  The  looking- 
glass  had  bitter  things  to  tell  me,  and  crying  makes 
me  such  a  frump.     T  never  felt  so  plain.     And  the 


264  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

eyes  of  a  young  man  are  often  brutally  frank  to 


women 


Don't  mind  about  me,  Billy.  Say  what  you've 
come  to  tell  me." 

"Been  gettin'  It  ready  to  say  ever  since  I  started 
for  England.  Look  here,  mum,  /  want  to  go  back 
to  the  beginning,  to  when  I  was  a  kid,  an'  mother 
kep'  that  hash  house  in  Abilene.  D'ye  mind  if  I 
speak — I  mean  about  this  here  Polly?" 

I  set  my  teeth,  and  hoped  he  would  be  quick. 

"Well,  ye  see,  mum,  she  only  done  it  for  a  joke, 
and  the  way  Jesse  treated  her — " 

"1  can't  hear  this." 

"You  don't  mind  if  I  say  that  mother  and  me 
haven't  no  use  for  Jesse?" 

"I  know  that." 

"Well,  mother  put  her  up  to  the  idea.  To  get 
shut  of  him,  she  shammed  dead.  I  helped.  I  say 
she  done  right,  mum.  If  she'd  let  it  go  at  that,  I'd 
take  her  side  right  now." 

"Billy,  was  that  a  real  marriage?" 

"It  was  that.     She's  Jesse's  wife  all  right." 

There  was  something  which  braced  me  in  his  cal- 
lous frankness.    "I  hoped,"  I  said.    "Go  on." 

"Well,  mother  hated  Jesse  somethin'  chronic. 
Afterward  when — well,  she  had  to  run  for  the  Brit- 


SPITE    HOUSE  265 

ish  possessions,  and  we  met  up  with  Jesse  again  by 
accident.  He  give  us  a  shack  and  some  land,  but 
mother  an'  me  had  our  pride.  How  would  yoii  like 
to  take  charity?  Mother  hated  him  still  worse,  and 
don't  you  imagine  I'd  go  back  on  her.  She's  my 
mother. 

"Then  you  married  Jesse.  Of  course,  mother  and 
me  both  knew  that  Polly  was  alive.  Father  knew 
too — and  father  was  around  when  no  one  but  us 
ever  seen  him.  We  knew  that  Polly  was  alive,  and 
mother  would  have  given  Jesse  dead  away,  only  we 
stopped  her.  Father  said  it  was  none  of  our  busi- 
ness. Father  liked  Jesse,  I  thought  the  world  of 
you,  so  when  mother  wrote  to  Polly,  we'd  burn  her 
letters." 

What  an  escape  for  us ! 

"Then  you  saved  mother  from  burning  in  that 
shack,  and  afterward  she  hated  Jesse  worse,  because 
she  couldn't  hit  him  for  fear  of  hurting  you.  Oh, 
she  was  mad  because  she'd  got  fond  of  you. 

"And  you  took  us  into  your  ranch.  Charity 
again,  and  you  sailin'  under  Protestant  colors,  both 
of  yez.  The  way  mother  prayed  for  Jesse  was 
enough  to  scorch  his  bones."  Billy  chuckled.  "I 
ain't  religious — I  drink,  and  mother's  professin' 
Catholic  cuts  no  figure  with  me. 


266  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Then  there's  the  fightin'  between  father's  gang 
and  Jesse's.  Dad  got  hung,  Jesse  got  the  dollars. 
Rough,  common,  no-account,  white  trash,  like 
mother  an'  me,  hears  Jesse  expounding  the  Scrip- 
tures.    We  ain't  got  no  feelings  same  as  you." 

Poor  lad  !     Poor  savage  gentleman  ! 

"You  saved  me  from  murdering  Jesse,  and  got 
me  away  from  that  ranch.  Since  then  I've  fol- 
lowed the  sea.  There's  worse  men  there  than  Jesse. 
I  seen  worse  grub,  worse  treatment,  worse  times  in 
general  since  I  quit  that  ranch.   Five  years  at  sea — " 

There  was  the  glamour,  the  greatness  of  the  sea  in 
this  lad's  eyes,  just  as  in  Jesse's  eyes.  Sailors  may 
be  rugged,  brutal,  fierce — not  vulgar.  Men  reach 
out  into  spaces  where  we  sheltered  women  can  not 
follow. 

"Suppose  I've  grown,"  said  Billy.  "Well,  mum,  I 
got  a  notion  to  go  home.  Signed  as  A.  B.  in  a  four- 
masted  bark  Clan  Innes  out  o'  Glasgow,  for  Van- 
couver with  general  cargo.  I  quit  her  at  Van- 
couver, made  Ashcroft  by  C.  P.  R.,  blind  baggage 
mostly,  then  hit  the  road  afoot.  I  thought  I'd  take 
my  departure  from  the  Fifty-Nine." 

"The  old  bush  trail?" 

"Hard    goin',    but   then    I    expected,    of    course, 


SPITE    HOUSE  267 

mother'd  be  there  at  the  ranch,  and  you,  mum,  an' 
Jesse,  of  course,  and — " 

"Jones?" 

Dreading  his  news,  I  fought  for  this  one  little 
respite  before  he  came  to  all  I  feared.  If  Jesse 
lived,  if  he  only  lived !  But  at  thought  of  the  old 
ranch  life,  Billy  lapsed  to  a  sheepish  grin  with  one 
quaint  glint  of  mischief.  Then  with  the  utmost  grav- 
ity he  asked  me  if  Patsy,  my  nursemaid,  "was 
claimed". 

"There's  many  a  little  craft  dips  her  colors  for 
one  who  wants  me  to  stand  by,  but  still — " 

"Patsy  is  free." 

"Faix !     Can't  help  it,  I  backed  my  tawps'l." 

"Proposed?" 

"Save  us !  It's  time  to  offer  a  tow  when  they're 
union  down,  and  a  danger  to  navigation.  Um. 
I'm  off  my  course." 

"You  must  have  found  things  changed  when  you 
got  to  the  ranch." 

"Didn't  get  there.  I'd  news  at  Hat  Creek,  and 
kep'  the  road  main  north.  Mother  wasn't  at  the 
ranch  any  more.  She'd  poisoned  Jesse's  bear.  Oh, 
mum,  I  don't  want  to  hurt." 

"Go  on,  dear  lad." 


268  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Mother'd  took  up  with  Polly  at  Spite  House." 
"Spite  House?" 

"It's  the  Ninety-Nine  Mile  House.  There's  a 
sign-board  right  across  the  road : — 

THE  NINETY-NINE 

MRS.  JESSE  SMITH 

HOTEL,  STORE,  LIVERY. 

"She  did  that  to  spite  Jesse,  and  they  call  the 
place  Spite  House." 

Just  then  the  maid  brought  in  the  tea  things,  so, 
cowardly  as  usual,  I  played  hostess,  delaying  all  the 
news  I  dared  not  face.  We  gossiped  of  Captain 
Taylor's  half-bred  child,  Wee  James  at  school  down 
East,  of  Tearful  George  married  to  that  dreadful 
young  person  at  Eighty  Mile  House  who  scratched 
herself  at  meals,  so  Jesse  said.  At  the  Hundred-and- 
Four,  where  Hundred  Mile  Hill  casts  its  tremendous 
shadow  on  the  lowlands  northward,  Pete  Mathson 
and  his  wife  were  making  new  harness  for  the  Star 
Pack-train.  There  a  shadow  fell  on  our  attempt  at 
gossip — why  does  the  conversation  always  stop  at 
twenty  minutes  past?  Billy  began  to  tell  me  about 
Spite  House. 


SPITE    HOUSE  269 

Spite  House!  How  right  Father  Jared  was. 
"Sword  versus  dragon,"  he  told  us,  "is  heroic : 
sword  versus  cockroach  is  heroics.  Don't  draw  your 
sword  on  a  cockroach." 

This  much  I  tried  to  explain  to  young  O'Flynn, 
whose  Irish  blood  has  a  fine  sense  of  humor.  But 
the  smile  he  gave  me  was  one  of  pity,  turning  my 
heart  to  ice.  "Jesse,"  he  said,  "made  that  mistake. 
That's  why  I've  come  six  thousand  miles  to  warn 
you.  Howly  Mother,  if  I'd  only  the  eddication  to 
talk  so  I'd  be  understood! 

"I'm  going  to  try  another  course.  See  here, 
mum.  You've  heered  tell  of  Cachalot  whales.  They 
runs  say  eighty  tons  for  full  whales — one  hundred 
fifty  horse-power,  dunno  how  many  knots,  full  of 
fight  to  the  last  drop  of  blood.  That  stands  for  Jesse. 

"And  them  sperm  whales  is  so  contemptuous  of 
the  giant  squid  they  uses  her  for  food.  She's  small 
along  of  a  sperm  whale,  but  she's  mean  as  eight 
python  snakes  with  a  devil  in  the  middle.  That'll 
do  for  Polly. 

"Well,  last  voyage  I  seen  one  of  them  she-night- 
mares strangle  a  bull  Cachalot,  and  the  sight  turned 
me  sick  as  a  dog.  Now,  d'ye  understand  what  Pol- 
ly's doing?     I  told  you  I  hated  Jesse.     I  told  you 


270  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

straight  to  your  face  why  I  hated  him.     And  now, 
mum,  I'm  only  sorry  for  poor  Jesse." 

It  was  then,  I  think,  that  I  began  really  to  be 
terrified.  Never  in  the  old  days  at  the  ranch  had 
Billy  been  off  his  guard  even  with  me.  Now  he  let 
me  know  his  very  heart.  I  could  not  help  but  trust 
him,  and  it  was  no  small  uneasiness  which  had 
brought  the  lad  to  England. 

I  had  fought  so  hard,  schooling  myself  to  think 
of  Jesse  as  of  the  dead,  with  reverent  tenderness. 
Little  by  little  I  had  filled  a  bleak  and  empty  widow- 
hood with  mother  duties,  womanly  service,  my  holy 
art  of  song,  and  harmless  fairies,  making  the  best 
of  it  while  age  and  plainness  were  my  destiny.  But 
now  of  a  sudden  my  poor  peace  was  shattered,  and 
that  gift  of  imagination  which  had  imagined  even 
contentment,  played  traitor  and  made  havoc.  Laws, 
conventions,  mean  respectabilities,  seemed  only  cob- 
webs now.  Love  swept  them  all  away,  and  nothing 
mattered.     Jesse!     Jesse! 

"Them  devil-squids,"  he  was  saying,  "has  a  habit 
of  throwing  out  ink  to  fog  the  water,  so  you  won't 
see  what  they're  up  to  until  they  lash  out  to  grapple. 
That's  where  they're  so  like  this  Polly.  She's  a  fat, 
hearty,  good-natured  body,  and  it's  the  surest  fact 


SPITE    HOUSE  271 

she's  kind  to  men  in  trouble.  Anybody  can  have  a 
drink,  a  meal  and  a  bed,  no  matter  how  broke  he  is  ; 
and  Spite  House  is  free  hospital  for  the  district. 
She'll  sit  up  nights  nursing  a  sick  man,  and,  till  I 
Avent  an'  lived  there,  I'd  have  sworn  she  was  good 
as  they  make  'em.    That's  the  ink. 

"Then  you  begins  to  find  out,  and  what  I  didn't 
see,  mother  would  tell  me.  She'd  been  three  years 
there.  Besides,  I  seen  most  of  what  we  calls  sailor 
towns,  and  I'd  thought  I'd  known  the  toughest 
there  was  in  the  way  of  boardin'-houses;  but  rough 
house  in  'Frisco  itself  is  holiness  compared  with 
what  goes  on  there  under  the  sign  of  Mrs.  Jesse 
Smith.     That  name  ain't  exactly  clean." 

"That's  enough,  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind.  I'd 
rather  have  news  about  our  old  friends — Captain 
Taylor,  for  instance,  and  Iron  Dale,  and  how  is 
dear  Doctor  McGee?" 

"Dear  Doctor  McGee,  is  it?  Well,  you  see  he  lived 
within  a  mile  of  Polly.  She  got  him  drinkin', 
skinned  him  at  cards,  then  told  him  he'd  best  shoot 
himself.     The  snow  drifts  through  his  house. 

"And  Iron  Dale?  Oh,  of  course,  he  was  Jesse's 
friend,  too.  I'd  forgot.  She  got  him  drunk  and 
went  through  him.     That  money  was  for  paying 


272  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

his  hands  at  the  Sky-line — wasn't  his  to  lose,  so  he 
skipped  the  country.  The  mines  closed  down  and 
there  wasn't  no  more  packing  contracts  for  Jesse." 

I  began  to  understand  what  Billy  meant,  and  it 
was  with  sick  fear  I  asked  concerning  my  dear 
man's  stanchest  friend,  his  banker.  Captain  Boul- 
ton  Taylor. 

"You'd  better  know,  mum."  There  was  pain  in 
the  lad's  face,  reluctance  in  his  voice.  "Being  the 
nearest  magistrate,  he  tried  to  down  Polly  for  keep- 
ing a  disorderly  house.  But  then,  as  old  man  Taylor 
owned,  he  didn't  know  enough  law  to  plug  a  rat 
hole.  There  ain't  no  municipality,  so  Spite  House 
is  outside  the  law.  But  Polly's  friends  proved  all 
the  good  she  done  to  men  who  was  hurt,  or  sick, 
or  broke.  Then  she  showed  up  how  her  store  and 
hotel  was  cutting  into  the  trade  of  Hundred  Mile 
House.  She  brung  complaints  before  the  govern- 
ment, so  Taylor  ain't  magistrate  now.  The  stage 
stables  got  moved  from  Hundred  Mile  to  Spite 
House.  The  post-office  had  to  follow.  Now  he's 
alone  with  only  a  Chinaman.  He's  blind  as  a  bat, 
too,  and  there's  no  two  ways  about  it — Bolt  Taylor's 
dying." 

"Is  there  no  justice  left?" 


SPITE    HOUSE  273 

"Dunno  about  that.     She  uses  a  lot  of  law." 

I  dared  not  ask  about  Jesse.  To  sit  still  was  im- 
possible, to  play  caged  tiger  up  and  down  the  room 
would  only  be  ridiculous.  Still,  Billy's  poisonous 
tobacco  excused  the  opening  of  a  window,  so  I  stood 
with  my  back  turned,  while  a  November  night 
closed  on  the  river  and  the  misty  fields. 

How  could  I  leave  my  baby?  How  could  I  pos- 
sibly break  with  Covent  Garden — where  my  under- 
study, a  fearsome  female,  ravened  for  the  part? 
The  cottage  would  never  let  before  our  river  sea- 
son. "Madame  Scotson  has  been  called  abroad  on 
urgent  private  business." 

"Of  course,"  the  lad  was  saying,  "when  Polly  got 
to  be  postmistress,  she  handled  Jesse's  letters,  held 
the  envelopes  in  the  steam  of  a  kettle  until  they'd 
open,  and  gummed  them  when  she  was  through — 
if  she  sent  them  on.  She  found  out  who  he  dealt 
with  and  got  them  warned  not  to  trust  him.  There's 
no  letters  now." 

"She  wouldn't  dare!" 

"No?  You  remember  he  sent  you  that  book  you 
wrote  together  at  the  ranch?" 

"You  know  that!" 

"I  read  it  at  Spite  House.     She  had  a  heap  of 


274  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

fun  in  the  bar-room  with  Jesse's  letter.      Her  cat 
eyes  flamed  like  mad." 

"There  was  no  letter." 

"She  made  a  paper  house  of  it,  and  set  it  alight 
to  show  how  Jesse  burned  her  home  in  Abilene. 
She  was  drunk,  too,  that  night.  But  that's  nothin'. 
Glad  you  didn't  hear  them  yarns  she  put  about  the 
country.  Jesse  wasn't  never  what  I'd  call  popular, 
but  he  ain't  even  spoken  to  now  by  any  white  man. 
His  riders  quit,  his  Chinamen  cleared  out.  Then 
she  bought  Brown's  ferry,  had  the  cable  took  away, 
the  scow  sent  adrift,  and  Surly  Brown  packed  off. 
She'd  heard  that  Jesse  lived  by  his  rifle,  so  she's 
cut  him  off  from  his  hunting  grounds.  There's 
nothing  left  to  hunt  east  of  the  Eraser." 

"He's  starving?" 

"Shouldn't  wonder." 

"Billy!" 

"Yes'm." 

"How  soon  can  I  get  a  ship?" 

"None  before  Saturday." 

"Go  on.    Tell  me  the  worst." 

"The  signs  may  read  coarse  weather  or  typhoon. 
I  dunno  which  yet.  She's  been  locatin'  settlers 
along  them  old  clearings  in  the  black  pine  and, 
judging  by  samples  I'd  seen,  she  swept  the  jails." 


SPITE    HOUSE  275 

"Why  more  than  one?"  I  asked,  "why  all  that  ex- 
pense when  one  would  do?" 

"Who'd  blackmail  Polly  afterward?  She's  no 
fool.  She  says  straight  out  in  public  she'd  shoot 
the  man  who  killed  him.  But  them  thugs  is  planted 
in  hungry  land,  they  see  his  pastures  the  best  in  the 
district,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  he's  a  danger 
to  all  robbers.  Why,  even  when  sportsmen  and 
tourists  comes  along  his  old  gun  gets  excited.  He 
hates  the  sight  of  strangers,  anyway. 

"Now,  all  these  years  she's  goading  him  to  loose 
out  and  break  the  law.  That's  why  she's  got  the 
constable  protecting  her  at  Spite  House.  Once  she 
can  get  him  breaking  the  law  she  has  all  them  thugs 
— so  many  dollars  a  head — as  witnesses.  It  ain't 
murder  she  wants.  She  says  that  when  she  went  to 
his  ranch  that  time  Jesse  sent  her  a  message  by  old 
Mathson,  'I  won't  let  her  off  with  death.' 

"She  won't  let  him  off  with  death.  Twice  she 
has  put  him  to  shame  in  public.  She'll  never  rest 
until  she  gets  him  hanged.  There's  only  one  thing 
puzzles  me.  I  see  it's  his  silence,  the  waiting,  which 
makes  Polly  wake  up  and  screech  at  night.  But  I 
dunno  myself — has  Jesse  lost  his  nerve?" 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?" 


276  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"She  told  mother  everything." 
"And  your  mother  told  you.     Why?" 
"Because — say,   mum,   you    remember   the   thing 
your  husband  called  Bull  Durham?" 
"Brooke." 

"Fancy  Brooke,  the  thing  which  Polly  kept  like 
a  pet  lap-dog.  The  thing  which  turned  state's  evi- 
dence to  hang  my  poor  old  dad.  Brooke's  come  to 
Spite  House  as  Polly's  manager.  Yes,  now  you 
know  why  mother's  got  no  more  use  for  Polly — 
told  me  I'd  best  come  to  you  and  give  you  warning. 
That  thing  is  at  Spite  House,  and  mother's  gone." 
"I  see  it  all  now.  But  one  last  question.  How 
did  you  get  to  England?" 

"Do  you  remember,  mum,  that  my  poor  dad  just 
thought  the  world  of  Jesse?" 

"I  remember,  a  legacy  for  you, — some  ponies." 
"Well,  Jesse  found  out  somehow  that  I  was  at 
Spite  House.  He  sent  me  the  value  of  them  ponies, 
with  only  a  receipt  for  me  to  sign.  I  reckon,  mum, 
that  ruined  and  well-nigh  starving,  he  rode  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty  miles  through  the  black  pines,  be- 
cause he's  honest.  That's  why  I  spent  the  money 
comin'  to  you.     I  wants  to  help." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  IMPATIENT  CHAPTER 

Kate's  Narrative 

THIS  chapter  is  so  difficult  to  start.  It  deals 
with  a  time  when  life  had  become  impossible 
unless  one  could  jump  from  here  to  Wednesday  next, 
and  thence  to  Monday  fortnight.  Of  course  the 
book  is  only  meant  for  Jesse,  for  David,  for  me,  and 
for  those  to  come  who  may  revere  us  as  their  an- 
cestors. Thank  goodness,  I  am  not  a  novelist !  Think 
of  the  fate  of  the  professional  writer  whose  hosts 
of  "characters,"  the  bodiless  papery  creatures  of  his 
brain,  will  rise  up  in  judgment  to  accuse  their  petty 
creator,  to  gibber  at  him,  to  make  his  dreams  a 
nightmare.  What  novelist  would  escape  that  con- 
demnation? Dickens  might  be  saved,  perhaps 
Balzac.  Tourguenieflf  maybe,  even  Kipling,  but  in 
Heaven  the  writers  will  not  be  overcrowded. 

My  characters  are  ready  to  hand,  and  my  events 
are  real,  but  how  can  I  possibly  weld  the  notes  in 

277 


278  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

waiting,  to  make  an  harmonious,  sane,  restful  chap- 
ter, whose  very  motif  is  worry?  I  give  it  up,  for 
what  am  I  that  I  should  do  this  thing? 

To  three-fourths'  pound  of  artistic  temperament, 
add  one  cup  Celtic  blood;  stir  in  a  tablespoon  of 
best  Italian  melody,  add  humor  and  laziness  to 
taste;  then  fry  in  moonlight  over  a  slow  anthem, 
and  there  you  are.     That's  me ! 

As  a  little  girl  I  would  prefer  a  hobgoblin  I 
couldn't  see,  to  a  real  doll  stuffed  with  the  best 
sawdust.  If  there  happened  to  be  any  day-dreams 
about,  visions  or  reveries,  I  would  play  hostess  and 
be  well  amused;  but  fend  me  from  accounts,  from 
business  men,  and  from  all  the  things  you  catch, 
such  as  trains  and  influenza.  Hateful  practical 
affairs  have  to  be  faced,  but  I  rush  them  to  get 
through  quick. 

Have  you  noticed  that  artists  who  vend  feelings 
as  a  grocer  sells  sugar,  are  always  accused  of  being 
callous?  I  sent  David  with  his  nurse  to  stay  with 
Father  Jared,  so  mother  called  me  a  cold-blooded 
wretch.  I  abandoned  my  part  at  the  opera  to  a 
weird  ravening  female  who  can't  sing,  so  my  man- 
ager called  me  an  atheist.  My  maids  had  to  pack 
and  run  to  escape  storage  with  the  furniture  at  the 


THE    IMPATIENT    CHAPTER         279 

"Pecking  and  Tootham  Emporiums"  ;  my  little  home 
passed  to  a  gentleman  with  mourning  nails, 
diamonds,  and  a  lisp ;  my  bits  and  scraps  of  stock 
were  sold  and  the  proceeds  banked  with  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company.  Then  came  casual  farewells 
to  baby  and  Father  Jared,  and,  just  as  the  train 
pulled  out,  the  district  nurse  threw  a  bunch  of 
violets.  So  I  broke  down  and  howled,  wondering 
damply  why.  Even  then  I  longed  for  my  dear  wil- 
derness where  every  wind  blows  clean,  for  the 
glamour  of  an  austere  land  braving  the  naked  etern- 
ities, the  heart  of  a  lonely  man  who  dared  to  do 
his  duty,  all,  all  that  was  real  and  great  in  life,  call- 
ing me,  calling  me  home. 

The  keenest  pleasure  which  ever  money  gave  me 
came  when  Billy  and  I  helped  in  the  drafting  of 
a  cable  order  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in 
London  to  that  bland  magnifico  who  manages  their 
branch  palace  at  Vancouver.  One  always  feels  that 
if  one  happened  to  want  a  Paris  hat,  a  bag  of  nuts, 
and  a  monkey,  this  Vancouver  potentate  would  make 
a  parcel  of  them  without  the  slightest  fear  of  their 
getting  mixed.  As  to  surprising  the  company,  one 
might  as  well  tickle  the  Alps.  So  here  is  the  tele- 
gram : — 


28o  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Provide  three  sleighs,  each  with  two  horses ;  en- 
gage two  reliable  bush  teamsters ;  six  months'  guar- 
anteed bonus  for  secrecy  and  fidelity. 

"Referring  to  previous  requirements  of  Jesse 
Smith,  load  No.  i  sleigh  to  capacity  with  provisions, 
luxuries,  ammunition,  books,  consigned  to  him  via 
bush  trail  from  59  Mile  House,  Cariboo  Road.  Re- 
ferring to  Captain  Taylor's  past  requirements  and 
present  sickness,  load  No.  2  sleigh  with  stores  in- 
valid comforts,  consigned  lOO  Mile  House.  Each 
driver  to  present  load,  rig  and  team,  with  personal 
services,  and  to  forward  consignee's  receipt. 

"Hire  third  sleigh  with  team  one  month,  furnish 
furs  on  approval,  equipment,  comforts  suitable  to 
bush  travel  and  residence  of  a  lady.  Place  in  charge 
of  young  competent  civil  engineer,  bringing  instru- 
ments and  assistant  to  report  to  Madame  Scotson, 
arriving  Ashcroft  Pacific  Limited  20  inst. 

"Absolute   secrecy    required.      Charge    Scotson." 

So  far  the  impulse  had  moved  me  to  be  quick 
before  I  repented,  and  the  journey  gave  time  for 
that.  Leaving  the  sweet  majesty  and  serene  order 
of  the  English  landscape,  I  made  the  usual  passage 
by  S.S.  Charon  across  the  Styx  to  New  York,  where 
I  caught  a  stuffy  train  for  the  transit  of  an  untidy 
continent.  And  so,  in  the  starry  middle  of  a  night, 
I  was  met  at  Ashcroft. 


THE    IMPATIENT    CHAPTER         281 

The  civil  engineer  sent  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany was  Mr.  Sacrifice  T.  Eure.  He  stood  uncov- 
ered, and  while  his  ears  froze,  spelled  his  name  to 
me,  explaining  that  there  were  two  syllables  in 
"Eure"  with  accent  on  the  first.  He  seemed  to  con- 
vey an  offer  of  protection,  to  claim  my  friendship, 
to  take  charge  of  my  affairs,  and  with  perfect  mod- 
esty to  let  me  know  that  he  was  competent.  Mud- 
colored  hair  hung  dank  over  a  fine  bloodless  face 
with  eyes  like  steel,  jaws  like  iron,  accounting,  per- 
haps, for  the  magnetic  charm  of  his  smile.  His 
English  was  that  spoken  by  gentlefolk,  which  has 
the  clearness  of  water,  the  sparkle  of  champagne. 
His  accent?  How  puzzling  that  is  in  a  stranger's 
voice !  Except  when  we  play  Shakespearean  drama, 
we  all  speak  with  an  accent,  American  say,  or 
British.  This  gentleman  lacked  the  primitive  man- 
liness which  stamps  the  men  of  the  Dominions.  Aft- 
erward Mr.  Eure  confessed  himself  a  native  of  New 
England. 

He  presented  his  assistant,  led  me  to  the  sleigh, 
showed  Billy  where  to  stow  the  luggage,  tucked  me 
into  some  warm  furs,  congratulated  me  on  escaping 
the  local  hotels,  then  bidding  my  man  and  his  own 
to  jump  in,  took  the  reins  and  asked  which  way  we 


282  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

were  going.  I  served  as  pilot  along  a  trail  of 
poignant  memories.  Once  as  we  climbed  the  great 
steeps  northward,  I  caught  the  scent  of  the  bull 
pines,  and  would  have  cried  but  for  the  cold,  which 
made  it  much  wiser  to  sniff.     Tears  freeze. 

We  slept  that  night  at  Hat  Creek  station,  where 
Tearful  George  proved  a  most  kindly  host.  He 
told  me  of  a  loaded  sleigh  which  had  passed  last 
week  on  the  way  to  Jesse's  ranch.  The  teamster 
was  Iron  Dale.  So  far  I  had  wondered  whether 
my  name  was  changing  letter  by  letter  from 
Madame  Scotson  into  Mrs.  Grumble,  but  now  the 
scent  of  the  pines  brought  ease  of  mind,  and  in  the 
great  calm  of  the  wilderness  one  Is  ashamed  to  fret. 

Our  next  march  brought  us  rather  late  for  the 
midday  dinner  to  Fifty-Nine  Mile  House,  which 
marks  the  summit  of  the  long  climb  from  Ashcroft 
to  the  edge  of  the  black  pines.  The  light  was  be- 
ginning to  wane  when  we  set  out  into  that  land  of 
silent  menace,  where  black  forests  cast  blue  shadows 
over  deathly  snow,  and  the  cold  was  that  of  the 
space  between  the  stars.  Once  we  had  to  pull  up 
to  adjust  a  trace,  and  in  that  instant  the  trees  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  paused  from  dreadful  motion.  A 
snow-covered  boulder  faced  us  as  though  in  chal- 


THE    IMPATIENT    CHAPTER         283 

lenge:  "You  think  I  moved?"  A  deadfall  log 
seemed  to  ask  us:  "Did  I  moan?"  A  hollow  tree 
became  rigid  as  though  it  had  been  swaying,  a  gaunt 
pine  leaned  as  though  stopped  in  the  act  of  falling 
upon  our  sleigh.  All  of  them,  alert  and  full  of 
menace,  watched  us.  The  trees  were  dead,  the  water 
was  all  frozen,  the  snow  was  but  a  shroud  which 
seemed  to  lift  and  creep.  What  were  we  doing  here 
in  the  land  of  the  dead  ?  The  shadows  closed  upon 
us,  a  mist  rose,  flooding  over  us,  and  far  ofl"  the 
cold  split  a  tree  asunder  with  loud  report  as  of  some 
minute  gun. 

We  drove  on,  freezing,  and  right  glad  I  was  to 
be  welcomed  with  all  the  ruddy  warmth  and  kind- 
ly cheer  of  Eighty  Mile  House.  There  we  had 
tea,  and  secured  fresh  horses  for  the  last  stage  of 
our  journey.  I  learned  also  that  the  driver  intrusted 
by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  with  provisions  for 
Hundred  Mile  House  had  gone  off  with  the  team, 
leaving  his  sleigh  still  loaded  in  Captain  Taylor's 
yard. 

The  malign  bush  seemed  cowed  by  sheer  immens- 
ity of  glittering  starlight  as  we  drove  on.  Only 
once  I  ventured  to  speak,  asking  Mr.  Eure  to  look 
out   for   Ninety-Nine   Mile   House.     Horses   accus- 


284  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

/ 

tomcd  to  bait  there  would  try  to  stop.      I   did  not 
want  to  stop. 

He   nodded   assent,   and,   crouched   down   beside 
him,  I  waited  until  a  brave  red  warmth  shone  out 
across  the  snow  from  all  the  lighted  windows  of 
Spite  House.    Mr.   Eure  lashed  his  horses,  and  in 
a  moment  more  we  had  passed  into  the  night  again. 
Presently   we  crossed  the  little  shaky  bridge   over 
Hundred  Mile  Creek,  then  swung  to  the  left  into 
Captain  Taylor's  yard.      I  could  see  on  the  right 
the  loom  of  the  old  barns,  on  the  left  the  low  house, 
and  at  the  end  one  window  dimly  lighted,  which 
told  me  my  friend  still  lived.     While  Tom,  the  as- 
sistant, stabled  the  team,  Mr.   Eure  and  Billy  got 
snow  shovels  from  the  barn,  and  hewed  out  a  way 
to  the  deep  drifted   door  at  the  near  end  of  the 
building.     Presently  the  Chinese  servant  let  us  in, 
and   I   made   my   way   through  the    barroom    and 
dining-hall  to  that   far  door  on  the  right.      How 
changed  was  the  grand  old  Hundred  since  the  days, 
only  five  years  ago,  of  pompous  assizes,  banquets, 
dances,   when   these   rooms  overflowed   with   light, 
warmth,  and  comfort,  now  dark,  in  Arctic  cold,  in 
haunted  silence !     I  crept  into  the  captain's  room, 
where,  in  an  arm-chair  beside  the  stove,  the  old  man 


THE    IMPATIENT    CHAPTER         285 

lay.  I  knelt  beside  him,  taking  his  dreadfully 
swollen  hand. 

"Dear  wife,"  he  muttered,  whose  wife  must  have 
been  dead  full  forty  years,  "this  hulk  is  going  to 
be  laid  up  soon,  in  Rotten  Row.  Can't  all  of  us 
founder  in  action." 

I  ran  away.  But  then  there  was  much  to  be  done, 
fires,  lights,  supper,  beds,  and  the  unloading  of  the 
sleigh  full  of  hospital  comforts,  which  would  set 
my  patient  a  great  deal  more  at  ease. 

When  I  left  my  patient,  very  late  that  night,  sup- 
posing all  lucky  people  to  be  in  bed,  I  found  Mr. 
Eure  making  himself  some  tea.  Gladly  I  joined 
him  beside  the  kitchen  stove,  ever  so  pleased  with  its 
warmth  and  the  tea,  for  I  was  weary,  past  all  hope 
of  any  sleep.  Besides,  the  poor  man  was  just  dy- 
ing with  curiosity  as  to  our  journey  and  his  engage- 
ment as  my  engineer.  So,  for  that  one  and  only 
time  I  told  the  story  of  Jesse's  fate,  and  mine.  The 
creature  would  stop  me  at  times  to  check  the  pro- 
nunciation of  words,  or  note  the  English  manner  of 
placing  accents,  his  own  odd  way  of  showing  sym- 
pathy. 

And  then  I  tried  to  explain  the  scheme  which 
needed  his  services  as  an  engineer. 


286  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Let's  see,"  he  checked  my  rambling  statement. 
"Try  if  I've  got  all  that  correct.  This  Cariboo 
wagon  road  runs  from  Ashcroft  to  QuesncUe,  due 
north,  except  at  one  point  where  the  government 
wouldn't  pay  for  a  bridge  across  the  Hundred  Mile 
gorge. 

"So  at  the  ninety-five-mile  post  the  road  swings 
eastward  five  miles,  passing  Spite  House  to  the  head 
of  the  gorge,  where  it  crosses  Hundred  Mile  Creek, 
right  here. 

"From  here  the  road  turns  west  again  on  the 
north  side  of  the  gorge,  and  after  one  mile  on  the 
level,  drops  down  the  Hundred  Mile  Hill,  which 
is  three  miles  high,  and  a  terror  to  navigation. 

"At  the  bottom  the  road  turns  north  again  for 
Ouesnelle,  at  a  cabin  called  the  One  Hundred  and 
Four  where  old  Pete  Mathson  lives,  a  hairy  little 
person,  like  a  Skye  terrier  with  a  faithful  heart. 

"And  said  Mathson  has  blazed  a  cut-off,  crossing 
the  foot  of  the  gorge,  then  climbing  by  an  easy 
grade  to  the  ninety-five-mile  post.  The  said  cut-off 
is  five  miles  long.  Made  into  a  wagon  road,  it 
would  give  a  better  gradient  for  traffic,  save  four 
miles,  employ  local  labor  at  a  season  when  money 
is  scant,  and  be  an  all-round  blessing  to  mankind. 


THE    IMPATIENT    CHAPTER         287 

At  the  foot  of  the  gorge  we'd  locate  the  new  Hun- 
dred Mile  House. 

"Incidentally,  Spite  House  would  be  side-tracked, 
left  in  the  hungry  woods  four  miles  from  nowhere." 

"Tell  me,"  I  urged,  "what  you  think." 

"My  dear  madam,  when  I've  made  a  survey  you 
shall  have  dates  and  figures  for  a  temporary  snow 
road,  a  permanent  way,  and  a  house." 

"It  can  be  done?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

"You  approve?" 

"Yes.     I  see  dollars  in  this,  for  me." 

"You  think  I'm  foolish!" 

"It  will  be  an  excellent  road." 

"But  the  result?" 

"Please  don't  blame  the  engineer." 

"Oh,  tell  me  what  you  think,  as  a  man." 

"Well,  let's  pretend  I'm  Polly." 

I  laughed. 

"Being  Polly,  and  from  my  Polly  point  of  view, 
frankly,  I'm  pleased.  Here  are  hundreds  of  new 
customers,  with  Madame  Scotson's  money  to  spend 
at  Spite  House." 

"My  men  will  sign  an  agreement.  The  man  who 
visits  Spite  House  forfeits  a  bonus  for  good  serv- 


288  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

ice,  loses  all  outstanding  pay,  and  leaves  my  camp 
that  day." 

"Is  that  so?  Of  course  the  coaches  change  horses 
at  Spite  House." 

"When  I've  bought  out  the  stage  company,  they'll 
change  horses  at  the  New  Hundred." 

"And  only  stop  at  Spite  House  for  the  mails?" 

"I  shall  appeal  to  the  postmaster-general." 

"On  the  ground  that  you're  running  a  rival 
house?    Captain  Taylor,  you  say,  did  that." 

"My  house  shall  charge  nothing.  It  shall  be  free, 
and  the  visitors  my  guests," 

"Then,  in  my  little  Polly  way,  I'm  afraid  I'll  have 
to  move  Spite  House  down  to  the  new  road." 

"On  to  my  land?" 

"Your  cruelty  reduces  me  to  tears.  I  am  a 
martyr.  I  appeal  to  the  chivalrous  public  to  boy- 
cott that  new  road." 

"When  I've  brought  money  into  the  country? 
Oh,  you   don't   know  this   hungry   neighborhood!" 

"Mercy!  My  client's  done  for.  I'm  Madame 
Scotson's  managing  engineer.  May  I  ask  a  plain 
question?" 

"Certainly." 

"Is  there  water-power  In  this  gulch?" 


THE    IxMPATIENT    CHAPTER         289 

"There's  a  lovely  waterfall." 

"I'll  look  around  to-morrow." 

And  then  came  Mr.  Eure's  confession.  The  as- 
sistant, not  himself,  was  a  surveyor.  "I'm  only  a 
paper-maker.  I'm  looking  for  cheap  timber,  good 
snow  for  haulage,  water-power  to  mill  the  lumber 
into  paper-pulp,  and  a  road  to  market.  I've  been 
traveling  some  months  now  in  search  of  that  com- 
bination, and  if  your  lovely  waterfall  will  give  me 
five  thousand  horse-power,  I  shall  have  to  build  your 
cut-off  road  for  myself,  also  the  house.  Then 
there'll  be  war  against  these  black  pines,  your 
enemies.  As  to  Spite  House,  it  seems  hardly  the 
kind  of  thing  for  you  to  deal  with.  Perhaps  you'll 
leave  that  to  me." 


CHAPTER  III 

RESCUE 

Jesse's  Letter 

MOTHER  in  Heaven: 
Please  thank  God  for  me  and  say  I'm 
grateful.  Tell  the  neighbor  angels  how  little  mothers 
having  sons  on  earth  are  badly  missed  and  grudged 
by  hungering  mortals.  Prayers  sent  to  Heaven  are 
answered,  but  not  letters.  I  reckon  no  one  here 
could  ever  write  a  letter  happy  enough,  so  light 
with  joy  that  it  could  fly  up  there.  And  when  I'd 
a  notion  to  write,  in  these  last  years,  I  knew  a  heavy 
letter  might  reach  the  wrong  address,  to  make  more 
sorrow  in  the  other  place.  I've  passed  the  hours 
writing,  times  when  I  had  paper,  but  the  stuff  I 
wrote  would  make  no  creature  happy,  except,  per- 
haps, critics,  who  enjoy  to  scoff.  What  can't  make 
happiness  is  worse  than  dirt. 

In  the  days  when  I  thought  this  Jesse  person  was 
important,  I  used  to  read  the  Old  Testament,  which  is 

290 


RESCUE  291 

full  human  with  pride  and  arrogance  of  man.  But 
since  I  learned  that  this  whole  world  is  only  a  dream 
from  which  we  shall  awake,  the  New  Testament  has 
been  my  pasturage.  Maybe  three  moons  ago,  when 
my  ammunition  had  run  out,  and  my  neighbor  ani- 
mals had  learned  all  the  little  secrets  of  my  traps 
and  snares,  there  was  no  food  for  the  earthly  part 
of  me,  and  I  wondered  what  God  was  going  to  do 
about  it.  Of  course  I  couldn't  question  about  His 
business,  but  seeing  that  likely  He  intended  me  to 
leave  my  little  worries  behind,  I  made  a  good  fire 
in  the  cabin,  lay  down  in  the  bunk,  arranged  my 
body  to  be  in  decent  order  in  case  I  left  it,  and 
took  my  Bible  to  pass  away  the  time. 

I  suppose  I'd  dropped  off  to  sleep,  when  some- 
thing rough  began  to  happen,  jolting  me  back  into 
the  world  of  fuss.  A  man  in  a  buckskin  shirt  and 
a  bad  temper,  stamping  the  snow  off  his  moccasins, 
shaking  me  by  the  arm.  He  was  my  old  friend  Iron 
Dale,  a  man  of  the  world — which  smashed  him. 

He  seemed  to  be  worried,  and  that,  of  course,  was 
natural  to  a  man  like  Iron,  lusty  and  eager,  with  an 
appetite  for  money — whereas  poor  Polly  had  done 
her  best  to  cure  him  of  his  dollars.  She  is  like  a 
dutiful  scapegoat  eager  to  carry  the  burdens  of  all 


292  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

the  people,  but  Iron  doesn't  understand  and  would 
carry  rocks  to  the  cliffs  rather  than  have  no  load  in 
a  world  of  workers.  Don't  you  remember,  mother, 
the  lesson  of  the  Labrador,  "The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord."  He  takes  away  the  things  which  keep  us 
from  Him. 

But  here  was  Iron  jumping  about  the  cabin,  busy 
as  a  chipmunk,  with  just  the  same  hurried,  funny 
way  of  blaspheming.  He  had  to  make  fire,  cook 
soup,  and  haul  things  in  from  outdoors,  while  he 
told  me  news  about  a  team,  a  sleigh,  a  load  of  stores 
for  me,  and  his  own  services  paid  up  six  months 
ahead  if  I'd  let  him  work  on  the  ranch.  He  was 
like  a  little  boy  which  plays  at  keeping  store,  where 
you've  got  to  pretend  to  trade,  with  nary  a  smile, 
lest  he  should  see  and  the  whole  game  turn  unreal. 
So  I  sat  up  for  soup,  which  made  my  loose  skin  fit 
me  again  as  I  filled.  I'd  answer  to  all  he  did,  grave 
as  a  constable,  playing  the  game  of  life  just  as  I 
used  to. 

All  of  us  have  to  play,  at  trade,  at  war,  at  love, 
at  kingdoms  and  republics.  We  play  at  empire 
without  a  grin,  we  play  with  serious  faces  at  learn- 
ing and  the  arts.   Yet  all  the  business  of  men  Is  like  a 


RESCUE  293 

game  of  children  playing  on  the  sands,  as  though 
there  were  no  tide  to  sweep  away  our  footprints. 

I  played  with  Iron  at  being  alive,  and  he  got  so 
damned  indulgent  I  could  have  smacked  his  face. 

When  he'd  tended  the  horses,  Iron  set  up  a  clock 
i""on  the  shelf,  so  I  might  hear  the  ticking  as  time 
^-ssed.     He  carried  in  armloads  from  the  sleigh,  he 
opened  cases,  he  spilled  out  sacks.    He  showed  me 
maple  syrup,  try-your-strength  cigars,  a  dandy  rifle 
with  plenty   ammunition,  books,   clothes,  candy,   a 
piano  which  plays  itself,  then  garden  seeds,  and  all 
sorts    of   things    which    you'd   have   honed    for    in 
the  long  ago.     The  place  was  like  a  barter  store, 
piled  to  the  beams  with  riches  wasted  on  me,  who 
hadn't  a  neighbor  left.     Why,  even  Iron,  who  used 
to  think  for  no  one  but  himself,  had  a  kitten  for  me, 
warm  in  his  pocket,  and  forgotten  until  a  case  of 
hardware  squashed  out    its    best    Sunday    scream. 
Who'd  ever  think,  too,  that  so  small  a  bundle  of  fur 
and  claws  should  have  a  purr  to  fill  my  whole  bed 
with  joy.     Surely,  I  loved  this  world  I'd  so  nearly 
quit,  when  after  supper  Iron  loosed  a  gramophone. 
The  Hudson's  Bay  man  had  shown  him  a  special 
"record"  from  England,  the  angel  song  in  Chopin's 
Marche  Funebre.    We  had  that  first,  the  very  song 


294  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

she  used  to  sing  in  this  cabin,  times  when  I  reckoned 
it  a  shameful  thing  for  any  man  to  cry. 

It  was  Kate's  voice. 

Oh,  tell  God,  mother,  that  I'm  very  gratefal.  I 
heard  her  voice  filling  this  place  which  used  to  be 
her  home.  Though  my  wife  and  I  are  parted  for 
all  our  years — love  finds  a  way. 

A  week  or  more  had  passed,  and  I'd  my  strength 
again.  The  river  had  frozen  so  that  we  could  cross 
to  the  hunting  grounds  beyond,  and  when  we  came 
back  our  camp  was  full  of  meat. 

I  was  once  rich,  before  my  wealth  of  memories 
went  bad  and  turned  to  pain.  I  once  had  peace  or 
thought  so,  till  I  found  that  there  is  none  for  men 
who  keep  on  growing.  But  wealth  of  memories, 
and  peace  of  mind,  and  humbleness  of  spirit  are 
but  emptiness,  and  life  is  a  waste  until  it  is  filled 
with  love.  Iron's  kindness  to  me,  the  chanty  which 
sent  me  Kate's  voice,  the  love  behind  the  gift  which 
found  me  dying — these  are  the  things  which  saved 
my  soul  alive.  My  life  must  be  filled  with  love,  my 
hours  must  be  deeds  of  help  for  others,  there  must 
be  no  more  self  in  me  at  all.  It  would  be  better  to 
be  damned  and  doing  good  in  hell,  than  to  squan- 
der love  where  it  runs  waste  In  Heaven. 


RESCUE  295 

The  truth  is  scarce,  being  winnowed  by  many- 
preachers,  and  my  grains  when  I  try  to  eat  them, 
are  mostly  husks.  Iron  calls  me  a  coward.  But 
Polly  only  weighs  ninety-eight  pounds,  and  I  two 
hundred,  so  that  I  couldn't  have  managed  to  feel 
brave  fighting  her.  Then  Iron  claims  it's  not  the 
little  woman  I  ought  to  fight,  but  the  big  evil  she 
did  in  bringing  all  our  settlers  to  death  or  ruin. 
A  woman's  whim  is  light  as  thistle-down,  but  this- 
tles choke  the  pasture  unless  you  fight  them,  and 
Christ  himself  fought  to  the  death  against  the  evils 
which  grew  rank  around  him.  I  doubt  I've  been 
a  cowardly  sort  of  Christian. 

Was  I  right  to  live  alone?  For  if  this  world's  a 
school,  I've  been  a  truant.  Can  I  live  for  self,  while 
all  things  done  for  self  are  only  wasted?  My  place 
was  in  the  world  working  for  others. 

I'd  got  so  far  in  thinking  my  morals  needed  re- 
pairs, when  a  new  thing  happened,  pointing  out  the 
way.  O'Flynn  rode  over  burning  the  trail  from 
the  Hundred.  My  wife  is  there !  Although  we  may 
not  meet,  her  love  has  brought  her  from  England 
to  be  near  me. 

O'Flynn  has  seen  my  son,  he  has  spoken  with 
Father  Jared,  he  has  come  with  Kate  from  England, 


296  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

and  he  left  her  nursing  at  Bolt  Taylor's  bedside. 
She  is  sending  Surly  Brown  from  Soda  Creek  with 
a  cable,  to  build  a  new  scow,  and  start  the  ferry 
again.  Ransome  Pollock's  to  manage  the  Trevor 
ranch.  Iron's  to  reopen  the  Sky-line  while  she 
makes  his  peace  with  the  owners — O'Flynn  wants 
to  run  the  packing.  She  is  finding  a  doctor  to  take 
McGee's  practise.  Tearful  George  is  to  buy  an 
imported  stallion,  and  drift  him  with  a  bunch  of 
East  Oregon  mares  to  stock  my  empty  pastures. 
The  dead  settlement  is  to  live  again  as  though  there 
had  been  no  Polly  to  rob,  ruin,  and  murder  among 
our  pioneers.  And  then  my  wife  will  send  young 
Englishmen  to  school  with  me  for  training. 

Stroke  by  stroke  this  Mr.  O'Flynn  comes  lashing 
home  the  news  into  my  hide,  as  though  I  were  being 
flogged.  He  says  he  hated  me  always,  but  never 
despised  me  before  as  he  does  now.  My  wife  and  I 
should  change  clothes,  only  I'd  be  too  useless  for  a 
.woman.  Iron  says  the  same,  and  in  a  most  un- 
christian way  I  thrashed  the  pair,  knocking  their 
heads  together,  for  putting  me  too  much  in  the 
wrong  while  I  wanted  my  breakfast.  They  think 
there's  something  in  my  argument. 

The  news  is  better  for  being  discussed,  and  best 


RESCUE  297 

of  all  I  reckon  this  man  Eure  who  is  to  side-track 
Polly,  building  a  town  at  the  foot  of  ths  Hundred 
Mile  Falls.  The  pines  on  the  high  land,  too  small 
a  trash  for  lumber,  are  good  enough  for  pulp  to 
feed  a  mill,  while  paper  is  the  plate  from  which  we 
eat  our  knowledge.  I  see  the  black  bush  turning 
into  books,  the  lands  in  oats  or  pasture  till  they're 
warmed  for  wheat,  and  when  we  come  to  the  rocks 
there's  marble  to  build  colleges  for  our  sons,  gold 
to  endow  them.  The  land  too  poor  for  any  other 
crop,  is  best  for  raising  men. 

It's  only  because  I'm  happy  I  write  nonsense 
feeling  this  night  as  though  I  were  being  cured  of 
all  my  blindness.  I  have  a  sense  that  though  I  sit  in 
darkness,  my  wife  is  with  me,  and  if  my  eyes  were 
opened,  I  should  see  her.  Is  it  our  weakness  which 
gives  such  strength  to  love? 


CHAPTER  IV 

AT    HUNDRED   MILK    HOUSE 

Kate's  Narrative 

MR.  EURE  inspected  the  woods  and  water- 
power,  then  departed  for  the  coast,  secretly 
to  buy  timber  limits,  avowedly  to  find  a  nurse  and 
a  doctor. 

Mr.  Tom  Faulkner,  his  engineer,  surveyed,  then 
let  contracts  for  temporary  snow  road,  log  buildings 
at  the  falls,  and  a  telegraph  line  which  would  secure 
our  business  from  being  known  at  Polly's  post-office. 

Mr.  Dale  reopened  the  Sky-line  mines,  pending 
my  arrangement  with  the  owners. 

Mr.  Surly  Brown  placed  a  cable  and  built  a  scow 
in  readiness  to  renew  his  ferry  business. 

Mr.  Tearful  George  placed  loads  of  forage  a 
day's  march  apart  across  the  forest,  then  drifted 
live  r'^ock  into  Jesse's  ranch. 

Father  Jared  sought  out  young  gentlemen  to  be 
trained  at  Jesse's  "School  of  Colonial  Instruction." 

298 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        299 

Mr.  William  O'Flynn  became  bartender,  despatch 
rider,  stable  man,  general  adviser,  and  commander- 
in-chief  at  the  Hundred. 

A  bewildered  Chinaman,  with  a  yellow  smile, 
cooked,  scrubbed,  chattered  pidgin-English,  and 
burned  incense  to  Joss  in  the  kitchen. 

And  I,  Kate,  was  busy  nursing  and  keeping  house, 
with  never  a  moment  to  spare  for  the  specters  which 
thronged  our  forest.  After  the  snow  road  diverted 
traffic,  my  one  visitor  was  Pete  Mathson,  who  on 
Saturdays  climbed  the  long  hill  for  his  rations. 
When  my  patient  was  well  enough,  he  would  talk 
with  "Bolt"  Taylor  about  old  times  in  the  gold 
mines,  or  on  the  high  technic  of  pack-train  har- 
ness, above  the  comprehension  of  a  woman. 

Until  the  nurse  came  I  was  with  my  patient  al- 
ways, and  slept  in  the  same  close  room.  On  her 
arrival — how  I  envied  that  pretty  uniform — Nurse 
Panton  proceeded  to  set  us  all  to  rights.  She  was 
a  colorless  creature,  supported  by  routine  as  by  a 
corset,  and  Billy  informed  me  that  she  needed  to  be 
shocked  thoroughly.  He  told  her  that  the  patient, 
being  a  sailor,  wanted  the  nursing  done  shipshape 
and  Bristol  fashion.  Nurse  and  I  were  to  have  each 
four  hours  on  and  four  off,  with  two  dog  or  half 


'300  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

watches,  which  would  daily  reverse  tlie  order,  so 
giving  us  the  middle  watch  by  turns.  Nurse  was 
indignant  at  the  very  idea,  and  finding  me  on  Billy's 
side,  protested  to  the  captain.  "Capital!"  said  he, 
delighted  at  any  chance  of  shaking  up  the  long 
monotony  of  illness.  "You'll  strike  the  bells  as  we 
do  at  sea,"  he  said,  "two  for  each  hour." 

Of  course  the  first  of  the  nursing  ten  command- 
ments is,  "Pretend  to  agree  with  the  patient;"  but 
then  the  naval  oflScer,  if  he  missed  his  bells,  would 
awake  with  horrible  deep-sea  oaths,  and  "Stop  her 
grog,"  so  that  she  got  no  tea  except  by  obedience. 

Whether  relieved  at  midnight  or  at  four  A.  M.  I 
would  put  on  my  furs  for  a  little  prowl  outdoors. 
To  leave  the  house  when  it  was  forty  degrees  below 
zero,  felt  like  the  plunge  into  an  icy  bath,  but  gave 
the  same  refreshment  afterward.  And  it  was  good 
to  watch  the  ghostly  dances  of  the  northern  lights 
fill  the  whole  sky  with  music  visible. 

Once  setting  out  on  such  an  excursion  I  traversed 
the  dining-hall,  entered  the  dark  barroom,  and 
opened  the  inner  door  which  gave  upon  the  porch. 
But  this  time  I  could  not  push  the  storm  door  open. 
Something  resisted,  something  outside  thrusting  at 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        301 

the  panels,  something  alive.  I  fell  back  against  the 
bar,  imagining  bears,  burglars,  bogies,  anything, 
while  I  listened,  afraid  to  breathe. 

It  was  then  I  heard  a  voice,  a  girlish  voice  outside 
in  the  Arctic  cold,  chanting  in  singsong  recitation 
as  though  at  school : 

''Bruce,  Bruce;  Huron,  Desoronto;  Chatham 
Cayuga ;  Guelph — not  Guelph — oh,  what  comes 
after  Cayuga?"  Then  feeble  hands  battered  against 
the  door,  "Teacher !    Teacher!" 

But  when  I  opened  the  door,  the  girl  stepped 
back  afraid, 

"You're  not  the  teacher,"  she  said;  "oh,  tell  me 
before  she  comes.  Sixty-six  counties  and  the  towns 
have  all  got  mixed." 

"Come  in  and  let  me  tell  you." 

"I  daren't!  I  daren't!  You're  not  the  teacher. 
This  is  not  the  school.    You'll  take  me  back!" 

She  turned,  trying  to  run  away,  but  her  legs 
seemed  wooden,  and  she  slid  about  as  though  she 
were  wearing  clogs. 

"I  won't,"  she  screamed,  "I  won't  go  back!"  Then 
she  fell. 

"Dear  child,  you  shan't  go  back." 


302  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

But  still  she  shrank  from  me.      "Oh,   leave  me 
alone!"  she  pleaded. 

"Mayn't  I  give  you  some  tea?" 

"You  won't  take  me  back  to  Spite  House  ?" 

"Not  to  that  dreadful  place." 

"Do  you  keep  girls,  too?" 

"There's  only  a  nurse,  and  a  poor  dying  man.'* 

"And  you'll  hear  me  the  counties  of  Ontario?" 

"Why,  yes,  dear." 

"I'll  come  then,"  but  as  she  tried  to  get  up,  "it's 
cramp,"  she  moaned. 

"Dear  child,  you're  freezing." 

"I'm  not  cold,  it's  cramp." 

She  must  have  fallen  through  the  snow  which 
covered  our  water-hole,  for  she  was  literally  incased 
in  ice  up  to  the  breasts. 

Finding  I  had  not  strength  to  carry  her,  I  shouted 
for  the  nurse,  who  roused  Billy,  and  then  the  China- 
man. Together  we  carried  her  indoors,  gave  her 
brandy,  and  laid  her,  dressed  as  she  was,  in  Captain 
Taylor's  bath.  Then  while  Billy  rode  hard  for  a 
doctor,  nurse  and  I  filled  the  bath  with  freezing 
water,  which  for  eight  hours  we  kept  renewed  with 
ice.  Drawn  gently  from  her  body,  the  frost  formed 
a  film  of  ice  upon  the  surface,  but  she  assured  me 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    EIOUSE        303 

that  she  felt  quite  warm,  without  the  slightest  pain. 
To  sustain  her  I  gave  liquid  food  at  intervals,  and 
quite  clear  now  in  her  mind,  even  cheerfully  she 
trusted  me  with  her  story. 

She  told  me  of  a  village  among  vineyards,  over- 
looking Lake  Ontario,  just  where  a  creek  comes 
tumbling  down  from  the  Niagara  heights.  Her 
father,  a  retired  minister,  wasted  his  narrow  means 
in  trying  to  raise  the  proper  grapes  for  sacramental 
wine.  Mother  was  dead,  and  nine  small  children 
had  to  be  fed  and  clothed,  to  appear  with  decency 
at  church  and  school,  so  that  they  would  not  be 
ashamed  among  the  neighbors.  "You  see,"  she 
added  primly,  "I'm  the  eldest,  the  only  one  grown 
up,  so,  of  course,  I  couldn't  be  spared  to  stay  at 
college."  And  there  was  little  to  earn  in  the  village, 
much  to  do  taking  a  mother's  place. 

Then  Uncle  John  found  an  advertisement  in  the 
paper.  A  governess  was  wanted  for  four  children 
somewhere  in  British  Columbia.  The  wages  were 
so  generous  that  there  would  be  enough  to  spare 
for  helping  father.  It  meant  so  much  of  proper 
food,  and  good  warm  clothing  for  the  younger  chil- 
dren. So  references  were  exchanged  with  Mr. 
Brooke,    who    wrote    most    charming    letters,    and 


304  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

Uncle  John  lent  money  for  the  journey.  My  little 
schoolma'am  pursed  her  lips  severely  over  that 
loan,  which  must  be  repaid  by  instalments.  Then 
her  eyes  shone  with  tears,  and  her  face  quivered,  all 
the  scholastic  manner  quite  gone,  for  she  spoke  of 
the  sad  parting  with  everybody  she  loved,  then  of 
the  long  nights,  the  lonely  days  of  that  endless  jour- 
ney across  the  continent. 

Mr.  Brooke  met  Jenny  at  Ashcroft,  and  took  her 
by  sleigh  nearly  a  hundred  miles,  getting  more  and 
more  familiar  and  horrid  until,  in  a  state  of  wild 
fear  of  him,  she  ran  for  safety  into  a  drunken  riot 
at  Spite  House.  The  waitresses  were  rude  and 
cruel,  Polly  lay  drunk  on  the  floor.  There  were  no 
children. 

Afterward  I  learned  from  Mr.  Eure  that  I  was 
a  prejudiced  witness,  without  a  shred  of  evidence, 
that  no  court  would  listen  to  hearsay,  and  that  the 
dying  girl's  confession  would  not  be  allowed  in 
court  except  it  were  made  under  oath  before  a  mag- 
istrate. Poor  Jenny  would  never  have  told  any  man 
what  happened  at  Spite  House;  she  would  not  have 
given  the  last  sane  moments  of  her  life  to  ven- 
geance; and  so  there  was  no   case  against  either 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        305 

Brooke  or  Polly  In  a  crime  which  had  earned  them 
penal  servitude. 

Vengeance?  I  think  our  prayers  together  did 
more  good,  and  when  the  time  came  for  Jenny's  re- 
moval to  a  bed  of  lint  soaked  in  carbolic  oil,  she  was 
prepared  to  face  the  coming  pain. 

"Shall  I  die?"  she  asked.   I  could  only  kiss  her, 

"Then,"  she  said,  "even  if  it  isn't  true,  tell  papa 
I  died  game." 

She  was  Canadian,  and  there  is  valor  in  that 
blood. 

Before  she  was  moved,  Doctor  Saunderson,  of 
Clinton,  had  taken  charge,  and  since  we  lacked  pe- 
troleum enough  for  a  bath,  approved  what  we  had 
done.  He  used  opiates,  but  the  pain,  after  a  frost- 
bite is  thawed,  is  that  which  follows  burning.  On 
the  third  day  came  exhaustion — and  release. 

I  was  obliged  to  give  evidence  at  the  inquest,  and 
my  profession  has  taught  me  quietness,  restraint, 
simplicity.  The  coroner  might  talk  law,  but  I  was 
dealing  with  men,  it  was  my  business  to  make  them 
cry.  There  was  no  case  against  Brooke,  but  from 
that  time  onward  visitors  to  Spite  House  were 
treated  as  lepers  until  they  left  the  country. 


3o6  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

For  the  rest,  I  would  not  be  present  either  at  the 
funeral  or  at  the  public  meeting,  or  see  the  press 
man  who  came  up  from  Ashcroft,  or  discuss  the 
matter  with  any  of  my  neighbors. 

The  theme  was  one  distasteful  to  any  woman 
with  claims  to  decency.  These  things  are  not  dis- 
cussed. And  even  if  through  misfortune  my  rela- 
tionship with  Jesse  became  a  common  scandal,  at 
least  I  need  not  share  the  conversation.  To  make  a 
scene,  to  discuss  my  affairs  with  strangers,  to  seek 
public  sympathy,  were  things  impossible.  Yet  I 
heard  enough.  The  waitresses  w^re  gone  from  Spite 
House,  the  constable  was  dismissed  from  his  posi- 
tion; the  business  of  the  post-office  and  stage-line 
were  transferred  to  Mr.  Eure's  stopping-place  at 
the  falls.  Brooke  and  Polly  were  left  alone,  with  no 
power,  it  seemed  then,  for  any  further  mischief. 

Until  it  actually  happened,  I  never  expected  that 
Brooke  would  visit  me,  but  perhaps  from  his  point 
of  view  the  event  was  piquant.  His  betrayal  of 
Billy's  father  to  the  gallows,  of  Jesse  and  myself  to 
Polly's  vengeance,  and  of  an  innocent  lady  to  ruin, 
and  death  by  cold,  might  have  made  even  Brooke 
suspect  he  would  not  be  welcomed.  But  then  Billy 
was  away,  the  gentleman  had  a  revolver,  and  nei- 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        307 

ther  the  nurse,  the  Chinaman,  nor  myself  were  dan- 
gerous. Hearing  a  horse  at  the  door,  I  went  to  the 
barroom,  and  dodged  behind  the  bar  or  he  would 
have  shaken  hands. 

While  he  was  actually  present  it  did  not  occur  to 
me  that  there  might  be  danger.  I  was  conscious  of 
aromas  from  stale  clothes  and  cigars,  liquor,  per- 
fumes, and  hair-oil ;  I  noted  the  greasy  pallor  which 
comes  of  a  life  by  lamplight;  and  while  Brooke  was 
Brooke,  he  had  to  dress  his  part.  As  a  professional 
gambler,  he  wore  long  hair,  mustache  and  impe- 
rial, broadcloth  and  black  slouch  hat,  celluloid 
"linen"  and  sham  diamonds.  To  these  the  climate 
added  bright  yellow  moccasins,  and  a  fur  coat  of 
the  hairiest,  the  whole  costume  keyed  up  to  Sunday 
best.  Dirty  and  common,  of  course,  yet  let  me  in 
justice  own  that  Brooke  was  handsome,  frank,  and 
magnetic  as  of  old.  Even  the  ravages  of  every  vice 
had  left  him  something  of  charm,  his  only  asset  in 
the  place  of  manhood. 

No,  I  was  not  frightened,  but  as  a  daughter  of 
Eve  a  little  curious  to  know  what  brought  him,  and 
not  quite  fool  enough  to  run  the  risk  of  showing  any 
temper. 

When  I  asked  him  to  state  his  business,  with  a . 


3o8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

large  gesture  he  claimed  the  visitor's  drink.     It  15 
an  old  custom,  which  I  broke. 

"You  think  I'm  a  villain?" 

I  made  no  comment. 

"I've  come  to  thank  you,  ma'am.  If  you'd  pressed 
that  girl's  case  it  might  have  been  well — awkward." 

I  told  him  that  had  I  known  the  law,  I  should 
have  done  my  best  to  get  him  penal  servitude  for 
life. 

"That's  straight,"  he  answered  indulgently,  "you 
always  were  clear  grit,  and  that's  why  I  want — well, 
ma'am,"  he  lowered  his  eyes,  "I'm  going  to  confess. 
You  don't  mind?"  he  added. 

My  eyes  betrayed  my  one  desire,  escape,  but  he 
stood  in  the  doorway  leading  to  the  house. 

"Your  presence,"  I  said,  "is  distasteful.  Please, 
will  you  let  me  pass?" 

"Not  till  I've  set  things  straight." 

There  was  no  bell  with  which  to  summon  help, 
and  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  make  a  scene. 

"Go  on,"  I  said. 

"I  dunno  how  you  feel,  mum,  about  life.  I'v*: 
been  disappointed,  starting  in  with  ideals,  and 
they're  gone.  I'm  as  straight  as  the  world  will  let 
me,  without  my  going  hungry." 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        309 

Let  me  here  quote  one  of  Jesse's  letters  to  his 
mother.  "This  Brooke  and  I  gi'ew  our  beef  and 
matured  our  horns  on  the  same  strong  pasture,  but 
where  a  homely  face  kept  me  out  of  temptation,  he 
had  what  you  call  beauty,  and  I'd  call  vanity.  In- 
stead of  trying  to  be,  he  aimed  to  act.  He'd  play 
cow-boy,  or  robber,  or  gambler,  things  he  could 
never  be,  because  he's  not  a  man.  He  could  wear 
the  clothes,  the  manners,  the  talk,  and  pass  himself 
off  for  real.  The  women  who  petted  him  sank  and 
were  left  in  the  lurch.  The  men  who  trusted  him 
were  shot  and  hanged.  That  made  him  lonesome, 
gave  him  the  melancholy  past,  the  romantic  air,  the 
charm — all  stock  in  trade.  Long  hair  costs  nothing, 
h^  pays  no  dog  tax,  but  life  is  too  rich  for  his  blood, 
and  in  the  end  he'll  die  of  it  like  Judas.  Say, 
mother,  wasn't  there  a  Mrs.  Judas  Iscariot?  She 
must  have  been  a  busy  woman  to  judge  by  the  size 
of  the  Iscariot  family." 

"Yes,"  Brooke  sighed,  "I'm  a  disillusioned,  dis- 
appointed man." 

I  had  a  curious  sense  that  this  actor  of  life  was 
trying  to  be  real,  and  in  the  attempt  he  posed. 

"Not  that  I  claim,"  he  went  on,  "that  Spite  House 
is  anyways  Iioly.     It's  not.     Of  course,  a  sporting 


3IO  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

and  gambling  joint  meets  a  demand,  a  regrettable 
demand,  a  thing  we  both  abhor  and  would  like  to  be 
shut  of.  But  since  demand  creates  the  supply,  let's 
have  it  in  high-toned  style,  not  run  by  thugs.  That's 
what  I  say." 

His  spacious  benevolence  seemed  to  confer  part- 
nership, yet  to  be  shocked  at  my  immoral  tendencies. 

"However,"  he  sighed,  "it's  over.  It's  done  with, 
shoved  aside.  There  was  money  in  it,  but  small 
money,  and  we  pass  on.  Old  Taylor  may  have 
told  you  that  as  far  back  as  November  we  decided, 
Mrs.  Smith  and  me,  to  run  the  house  as  a  first-class 
resort  for  tourists.  We  bought  the  Star  Pack-train 
from  Taylor,  and  the  old  cargador  is  making  our 
new  riggings." 

This  was  news  indeed! 

"Of  course  pack-trains  as  such  are  out  of  date 
as  Noah's  ark,  and  we've  got  to  march  with  the 
procession.  You'll  see  in  this  prospectus,"  he  held 
out  a  paper,  "well,  I'll  read  it.  Let's  see — yes — 
'Forest  Lodge,  long  under  the  able  management  of 
Mrs.  Jesse  Smith,  with  great  experience  in'  *  *  * 
no,  it's  further  on — 'Forest  Lodge  is  the  natural 
center  for  parties  viewing  the  wondrous  wilds.' 
That  should  grip  them,  eh?     'Experienced  guides 


AT    HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE        311 

with  pack  and  saddle  animals  from  the  famous  Star 
atajo/  we  can't  call  them  mules,  of  course,  'will 
escort  parties  visiting  the  sceneries  and  hunting 
grounds  of  the  Coast  Range,  the  Cariboo,  the 
Omenica,  the  Babine,  and  the  Cassiar.'  That  ought 
to  splash !" 

Billy  had  warned  me  of  bad  characters  settled  on 
the  lands  toward  Jesse's  ranch.  Were  these  Brooke's 
"experienced  guides"? 

"Naturally,"  Brooke  folded  his  prospectus,  "the 
sporting  trade  had  to  be  closed  right  down  before 
the  tourist  connection  took  a  hold.  Millionaire 
sportsmen  out  to  spend  their  dollars,  expect  to  find 
things  just  so.  They  want  recherche  meals,  and 
unique  decorations,  real  champagne  wine,  and 
everything  'imported'  even  when  it's  made  on  the 
spot.  They  don't  make  no  hurroar  over  losing  a 
few  thousands  at  cards,  but  they  just  ain't  going  to 
stand  seeing  Polly  laying  around  drunk  on  the  bar- 
room floor.  I  tell  you  when  they  comes  I  ain't 
going  to  have  Polly  around  my  place.  That's 
straight.     She'll  get  her  marching  orders  P.  D.  Q." 

So  Polly  was  next  for  betrayal. 

"Yes."  Brooke  became  very  confidential.  "What 
I  require  at  Forest  Lodge  is  a  real  society  hostess, 


312  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

a  lady.  Yes,  that's  what's  the  matter — a  lady.  Now 
that's  what  I  come  about.  Ever  since  I  seen  you 
Mrs.,  I  mean  madam,  I  mean — " 

He  became  quite  diffident,  leaving  the  doorway, 
leaning  over  the  counter. 

"Would  you — "  he  began,  "would  you  be  pre- 
pared, ma'am,  to — " 

My  way  was  clear,  and  I  ran. 

It  often  seemed  to  me  that  Jesse's  life  and  mine 
were  veiled  in  some  strange  glamour  of  a  directed 
fate.  Little  by  little,  in  ever  so  slow  degrees  this 
mist  was  lifting,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  soon  the 
air  would  clear,  giving  us  back  to  blessed  common- 
place. Through  no  act  of  mine,  but  by  Brooke's 
incompetence,  the  prosperous  business  of  Spite 
House  had  been  brought  to  ruin.*  Polly  was  drink- 
ing herself  to  death,  and  presently  would  find  her- 
self betrayed  by  that  same  callous  treachery  which 
had  wrought  such  havoc  in  my  dear  man's  life  and 
mine. 

Billy  had  held  these  last  few  weeks  that  Polly's 
funds  were  gone,  that  she  was  penniless.  He 
begged  me  to  let  him  destroy  the  great  sign-board 
across  the  road  to  Spite  House.     Failure  to  renew 

♦Note:    Jesse  says  I  ruined  Polly,  which  just  shows  how  prejudiced  men 
are,  even  at  the  best. 


AT   HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE       313 

that  would  indeed  be  conclusive  proof  of  the 
v/oman's  penury,  but  the  meanness  of  such  a  test 
revolted  me,  for  one  does  not  strike  a  fallen  adver- 
sary. 

Were  there  any  funds  to  promote  black  pines  and 
mosquitoes  as  an  attraction  to  millionaires?  Brooke 
in  his  folly  had  divulged  that  foolish  scheme,  suffi- 
cient to  complete  the  ruin  of  a  poor  wretched  wom- 
an, before  he  abandoned  her  interests  to  seek  his 
own.  Was  it  true?  I  went  straight  to  Captain 
Taylor. 

For  a  week  past  my  refractory  patient  had  in- 
sisted upon  living  entirely  upon  cheese,  a  seemingly 
fatal  diet,  which  to  confess  the  truth  had  done  him 
a  world  of  good.  Save  for  the  loss  of  his  sight  he 
was  quite  his  dear  old  self  and  glad  of  a  gossip. 

"Yes,  Kate,"  he  chuckled,  "the  murder's  out  at 
last.  You  see  I'm  not  exactly  prosperous,  and  my 
retired  pay  is  a  drop  in  my  bucket  of  debts.  And 
then  our  good  friend  Polly  invested  all  her  wealth 
in  buying  up  the  mortgage  on  this  ranch." 

"But  why?" 

"For  fun.  For  the  pleasure  of  turning  me  out. 
She  kindly  granted  me  permission  to  sleep  in  that 
old  barrel  which  used  to  belong  to  my  fox,  but  then 


314  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

you  see  I  really  couldn't  be  under  any  obligations  to 
the  lady." 

"Did  you  pay  off  the  mortgage?" 

"I  did.  So  Polly  strums  rag-time  tunes  on  my 
piano,  Brooke  wears  my  early  Victorian  frock  coat, 
they  serve  their  beans  and  bacon  with  my  family 
plate,  the  gentleman  sports  my  crest,  the  lady  has 
my  dear  mother's  diamonds  which  are  really  paste. 
My  dear,  they're  county  society — you  really  must 
call  and  leave  cards." 

"But  the  portraits !" 

"They  stared  at  mc  so  rudely  that  I  burnt  them. 
Ancestors  ought  to  remember  they're  dead,  and 
they'd  rather  be  burned,  too,  than  be  claimed  as 
Polly's  aunts." 

"And  the  Star  Pack-train?" 

"A  half-interest,  my  dear,  a  half-interest,  that's 
all." 

"So  you're  in  partnership?" 

"Why,  no.  Fact  is,  old  Pete  has  been  working 
thirty-five  years,  with  his  faithful  eyes  shining  be- 
hind that  hair — It's  silver  now,  eh?  Well,  I  couldn't 
leave  him  in  the  lurch.  And  there's  the  Hudson's 
Bay  to  consider,  with  forts  up  north  depending  on 
us  for  supplies.     And  I  suppose,  when   I  come  to 


AT   HUNDRED    MILE    HOUSE       315 

think  of  it,  I'm  rather  proud  of  the  outfit.  So,  in 
my  sentimental  way,  I  made  a  deed  by  which  Pete 
is  managing  owner,  with  a  half-interest,  while  Polly 
is  sleeping  partner  with  no  right  to  interfere." 

"You've  told  Pete?" 

"No.     I  suppose  I've  got  to  own  up?" 

"You  don't  want  Pete  to  be  cheated  by  his  part- 
ners." 

"You're  right.  Just  open  my  desk  and  look  in- 
side.    It's  the  paper  on  top." 

I  found  and  read  the  deed. 

"You've  read  it,  of  course,"  T  said. 

"It  was  read  to  me  by  the  lawyer  chap.  Isn't  it 
all  right?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  managed  to  say,  "it's  all  right — such 
funny  legal  jargon." 

I  looked  at  the  names  of  the  witnesses,  Cultus  Mc- 
Tavish  and  Low-lived  Joe,  the  worst  characters  in 
our  district.  The  document  read  to  the  old  blind 
man  had  been  no  doubt  destroyed.  The  deed  actu- 
ally signed  made  Polly  sole  owner  of  the  famous 
pack-train.    My  friend  had  been  cheated. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    CARGADOR 

Kate's  Narrative 

IT  was  sixty  degrees  below  zero.  The  moon- 
light lay  in  silver  on  the  pines,  the  hundred- 
and-four-mile  cabin,  deep  buried  among  the  drifts, 
glittered  along  the  eaves  with  icicles,  the  smoke 
went  up  into  the  hush  of  death,  and  the  light  in  the 
frosted  window  would  glow  till  nearly  dawn. 

Within,  Pete  sat  upon  his  shiny  bench,  rolling 
waxed  end  upon  his  shiny  knee,  and  tautened  his 
double  stitches  through  the  night,  scarcely  feeling 
the  need  of  sleep.  His  new  aparejos,  stacked  as 
they  were  finished,  had  gradually  crowded  poor 
Mrs.  Pete  into  her  last  stronghold,  the  corner  be- 
tween the  wood-box  and  the  bunk.  Fiercely  she  re- 
sented the  filling  of  her  only  room  with  harness,  of 
her  bunk  with  scrap  leather,  which  scratched  her, 
she  said.     Wedged  into  her  last  corner,  she  would 

316 


THE    CARGADOR  317 

patch  disgraceful  old  socks,  while  Pete  at  his  sewing 
crooned  One  More  River,  or  some  indecent  ballad 
of  the  gold  mines. 

"Mother,"  Pete  would  look  up  from  his  bench. 
"You  mind  when  I  brung  her  here  right  to  this  very- 
cabin,  with  Father  Jared,  and  the  Baby,  David?" 

"What  makes  you  hover,  Pete?" 

"D'ye  mind  Baby  David?" 

"Didn't  I  nurse  him?"  said  the  old  woman  softly. 
"He'd  red  hair  like  his  stuck-up  mother,  blue  eyes 
same  as  Jesse,  and  a  birthmark  on  his  off  kidney. 
Now,  did  you  ask  her  about  that  birthmark?" 

"I  told  her,"  said  Pete,  "that  a  suspicious  female, 
with  a  face  like  a  grebe  and  an  inquirin'  mind  is 
wishful  to  inspeck  Dave's  kidneys." 

Mother  wagged  her  head.  "I  own  I'd  like  to  be- 
lieve Kate  Smith  is  back  in  this  countr}',  but  you're 
such  a  continuous  and  enduring  liar." 

"That's  so,"  said  Pete. 

One  day  when  the  sun  shone  brightly  Into  the 
cabin,  Billy  arrived  with  a  letter  from  Captain 
Taylor.  Pete  would  not  give  it  to  mother,  or  read 
it  aloud,  or  even  tell  the  news.  He  danced  an  un- 
gainly hornpipe,  and  mother  had  to  shake  him. 


3i8  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Can  a  woman's  tender  care 
Cease  toward  the  child  She — Bear? 
In  the  Old  town 
To-night  my  ba-Bee!" 

"Now  what  on  airth's  the  matter  with  yew?"" 
mother  boiled  over. 

"Yes,  she  may  forgetful  Bee, 
Yet  will  I — remember  Me. 

"Finish  them  riggings  by  first  May,  says  he. 

"Says  the  old  Obadiah 
To  the  young  Obadiah, 
Obadiah.    Obadiah! 
Oh,  be  damned ! 

''Says  I'm  partner  and  boss  of  the  outfit,  and  run- 
ning the  whole  shootin'  match,  and  I'll  get  more 
wealth  than'll  patch  hell  a  mile,  and 

"Thar's  none  like  Nancy  Lee,  I  trow, 
Ow!    Ow! 

"Oh,  mother.  Bolt's  give  me  a  half-interest,  and 
ain't  this  a  happy  little  home,  my  darlin' !" 

At  that  Mrs.  Pete  flung  her  skinny  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  the  two  silly  old  things  sobbed  to- 
gether. 


THE    CARGADOR  319 

A  week  later,  when,  to  save  Pete  a  long  tramp, 
Billy  rode  down  with  the  rations,  he  found  the  old 
people  concerned  "about  this  yere  partnership." 

"Mother  allows  this  Brooke  is  trash,"  said  Pete, 
wagging  his  snowy  head,  "and  for  all  the  interest 
he  takes  he's  mostly  corpse.  Thar's  shorely  holes  in 
my  'skito  bar." 

Billy  read  the  letter  thoughtfully. 

"Brooke  been  to  see  the  riggings?"  he  asked. 

"Once  in  December.  He  don't  know  nothin', 
either." 

"Wonder  what  he  wants?" 

"Smells  mean,  eh?" 

"A  mean  smell,  Pete." 

Billy  had  spent  the  week  tracking  down  the  two 
bad  characters  who  had  served  as  witnesses  to  a 
false  agreement.  Their  confession  was  now  in  evi- 
dence against  Brooke,  in  case  he  dared  repudiate 
Mathson's  rights  as  partner,  but  there  was  no  need 
to  alarm  the  cargador.  So  Billy  changed  the  sub- 
ject, demanding  tea,  and  there  was  a  fine  gossip. 

"Mr.  O'Flynn,"  asked  mother,  "hev  yew  bin  In 
love?" 

"Engaged,"  said  Billy  in  triumph, 

"Dew  tell!" 


320  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Yes,  to  Madame  Scotson's  nurse  over  in  Eng- 
land." 

"Does  she  patch  your  socks?" 

"Now,  mother,"  Pete  interrupted,  "when  you  was 
courting  me  did  you  patch  my  socks?" 

"Wall,  I—" 

"Come  to  think,"  said  the  cargador,  "I  didn't' 
have  them,  being  then  in  the  Confederate  army. 
But,  mother,  you  did  sure  scratch  my  face!" 

"Wall,  that's  no  dream,"  said  mother,  bridling. 

Once  after  his  Saturday's  tramp  up  the  great  hill, 
Pete  returned  looking  very  old.  "I  axed  Bolt,"  he 
explained,  "about  this  yere  partnership." 

"Well?"  asked  mother  sharply.     "Well?" 

"Bolt  says  thar's  pigs  with  pink  bows  to  their 
tails,  just  stretchin'  and  stretchin'  around  his  sty." 

The  old  woman  turned  her  back,  for  Pete  was 
crying. 

In  April  there  came  a  rush  of  warmth  out  of  the 
west,  licking  up  all  the  snow,  save  only  on  that  high 
plateau  where  the  Hundred  and  Spite  House 
seemed  to  wait  and  wait  in  the  white  silence. 

The  spring  storms  came,  the  rains  changed  to 
snow,  the  snow  changed  to  rain,  with  hail-storms, 
and  thunder  rolling  over  snow.    The  cheeky  little 


I 


THE    CARGADOR  321 

buttercups  peeped  up  through  the  tails  of  the  snow- 
drift, and  far  away, below  Jesse's  ranch  in  the  Fraser 
canon,  the  Star  brand  mules  worshiped  their  old 
bell  mare  among  the  marigolds.  The  ground  was 
bare  now  about  Pete's  cabin,  all  sodden  pine  chips 
to  the  edge  of  the  rain-drenched  bush,  and  the  wil- 
low buds  were  bursting. 

Pete  sat  under  a  roof  of  cedar  shakes  which  he 
had  built  to  shelter  the  new  "riggings."  Around 
him  in  a  horseshoe  stood  fifty  complete  aparejos, 
each  with  coiled  lash  and  sling  rope  underneath, 
breeching  and  crupper,  sovran  helmo  and  cinchas, 
sweat  pad,  blanket,  and  corona,  while  the  head- 
ropes  strapped  the  manias  over  all.  He  was  rivet- 
ing the  last  of  sixty  hackamores,  as  he  dreamed  of 
the  great  north  trail,  of  open  meadows  by  the  Hag- 
wilgaet,  of  the  heaven-piercing  spire  of  Tsegeor- 
dinlth  at  the  Forks  of  Skeena. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "I'm  no  slouch  of  a  cargador. 
Them  red  gin  cases  is  still  to  rig  for  kitchen  boxes, 
and  it's  all  complete.  The  mules  is  fattening  good, 
I  hear,  and  the  men's  the  same  as  last  summer,  all 
worth  their  feed,  too." 

But  mother,  grim  and  fierce  in  the  throes  of  her 
spring  cleaning,  had  not  come  to  admire.     "Pete," 


322  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

she  shrilled,  "two  more  buckets  of  water,  and  yew 
jest  git  a  move  on.  And  how  long  hev  yew  bin 
promisin'  to  whittle  me  them  clothes-pins?  Now 
jest  yew  hustle,  Pete,  or  I'll  get  right  ugly." 

Pete  only  cut  from  the  plug  into  his  palm,  and 
rolled  the  tobacco  small  for  his  corn-cob  pipe.  Hi? 
winter  servitude  was  ended,  and  he  was  master,  the 
cargador  before  whom  all  men  bow  in  the  dread 
northlands.  Mother  went  off  content  to  carry  her 
own  water,  and  Pete,  with  something  of  a  flourish, 
lighted  his  pipe. 

"Mother!"  Pete  let  out  a  sharp  call,  and  forget- 
ting her  business,  mother  came  quite  humbly,  as 
though  to  heel.     "Yes,  Pete?" 

He  pointed  with  his  pipe  at  a  distant  horseman 
rounding  the  flank  of  the  hill. 

"Brooke?"  she  whispered,  both  gnarled  rheumatic 
hands  clutched  at  her  heart. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Pete  cheerfully.  "Thinks  he's  a 
circus  procession.  That  sorrel's  clattering  a  loose 
near-hind  shoe,  and  her  mouth  just  bleeding  as  he 
saws  with  that  spade  bit.  He's  a  sure  polecat.  Trots 
down-hill,  too,  and  suffers  in  his  tail.  Incompetent, 
mother.  Look  at  his  feet !  He's  bad  as  a  stale  sal- 
mon, rotten  to  the  bones.     Been  drinking,  too." 


THE    CARGADOR  323 

Brooke  drew  up  and  dismounted,  leaving  his  rein 
on  the  horse's  neck,  instead  of  dropping  it  to  the 
ground.  When  Brooke  moved  to  sit  on  an  aparejo, 
Pete  ordered  him  to  one  of  the  kitchen  boxes.  "Not 
Bolt  hisself  may  sit  on  my  riggings,"  said  the  old 
gray  cargador. 

"I  thought,"  said  Brooke  quite  kindly,  "that  this 
harness  was  mine." 

"A  half-interest,"  said  mother,  "sure-ly." 

"I  fear,"  said  Brooke,  "you  sort  of  misunder- 
stood. Old  Taylor  did  say  something  about  your 
usefulness  as  a  working  partner,  and,  of  course,  if 
we  hadn't  canceled  that  preposterous  contract  with 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  there's  no  doubt  your 
knowledge  of  the  country  up  north  would  have 
been  worth  paying  for.  It  was,  as  you  say,  damned 
awkward  about  his  being  blind  as  a  bat;  in  fact,  I 
Vv^as  put  to  quite  a  lot  of  trouble  getting  the  agree- 
ment witnessed.  However,"  he  produced  a  docu- 
ment which  mother  snatched,  "it's  all  there  in  black 
and  white,  and  there's  the  old  fool's  signature — 
holds  good  in  any  court  of  law — proves  that  I've 
bought  and  paid  for  the  whole  atajo.  You  needn't 
claim  I  haven't  a  clear  title — so  you  needn't  stare  at 


324  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

mc  as  if  I'd  forged  the  signature.  It's  straight 
goods,  I  tell  you." 

Mother  reeled  backward,  while  she  grabbed 
Pete's  shoulders  so  that  the  agreement  fluttered  to 
Brooke's  feet.  She  steadied  herself,  then  with  a 
husky  croak,  "You  made  Bolt  sign  that — blind, 
dying,  so  he  dunno  what's  on  the  paper." 

"Can  you  prove  that?"  asked  Brooke  indulgently, 
as  though  he  spoke  to  children.  "If  you  say  things 
like  that,  it's  criminal  libel,  and  you're  both  liable  to 
the  Skookum  House.  However,"  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  put  the  agreement  away,  "I  don't 
want  to  be  hard  on  you,  Pete." 

"Mister  Mathson,"  mother  hissed  at  him. 

Pete,  with  a  whispered  word  to  mother,  rose  from 
his  bench,  and  without  appearing  to  see  Mr.  Brooke, 
walked  past  him  across  the  sunlit  yard,  and  on 
slowly  up  the  great  lifting  curve  of  the  road  to 
Hundred  Mile  House. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  him  when  Pete  rested 
at  last  upon  the  snowclad  summit,  and  dusk  lay  in 
lakes  of  shadow  far  below  him.  At  the  Hundred 
he  found  the  lamps  alight,  and,  as  usual,  Billy  of- 
fered him  a  drink.  "I  ain't  drinking,"  said  Pete 
huskily,  as  he  lurched  past  the  bar  into  the  dining- 


THE    CARGADOR  325 

hall,  and  on  to  the  little  room  on  the  right  where 
Captain  Taylor  lay. 

"Bolt!"  he  whispered. 

"That  you,  Pete?  Sit  down,"  said  the  boss  cheer- 
ily. "How's  the  claim,  Pete?  Getting  coarse  gold, 
eh?" 

"Gold?  Say,  Bolt,  what's  the  matter,  old  fel- 
low?" 

"Matter?  Why,  nothing,  Pete,"  the  blind  eyes 
shone  keenly;  "of  course  I'm  not  nearly  to  bedrock 
yet,  and  as  to  what  I  owe  you've  jolly  well  got  to 
wait  How's  old  Calamity?  I  got  Lost  Creek  Jim 
to  work  at  last." 

Was  the  boss  dreaming  of  old  times  on  Lightning 

Creek? 

"Watty's  in  with  the  mail,"  said  Bolt. 

Watty  had  been  dead  these  thirty  years. 

Then  Pete  sat  down  on  the  bedside,  and  the  two 
miners  prattled  about  the  new  flume,  and  the  price 
of  flour  in  a  camp  now  overgrown  with  jungle. 

A  word  to  Billy  would  have  been  enough  to  get 
the  aparejos  to  a  place  of  safety,  pending  the  set- 
tlement of  Pete's  just  claim  as  partner.  But  the 
cargador  knew  well  that  death  had  come  to  take 
the  one  man  he  loved.     This  was  no  time  for  sordid 


326  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

business,    disturbing   Bolt   Taylor's   peace.     It   was 
better  to  go  quietly. 

*  *  sic  *  *  *  * 

The  sky  was  full  of  stars  as  Pete  went  homeward. 
The  stars  were  big  and  round;  the  forest  in  an 
ecstasy  kept  vigil  all  alert,  all  silent,  and  the  little 
streams  of  the  thaw  were  saying  their  prayers  be- 
fore the  frost  sleep  of  the  later  hours.  The  man 
was  at  peace.  It  is  not  so  very  much  to  be  carga- 
dor;  but  it  is  a  very  big  thing  indeed  to  be  unselfish. 
The  trees  kept  vigil,  the  little  streams  crooned 
sleepy  prayers,  the  stars  in  glory  humbly  served  as 
lamps,  and  the  man  made  no  cry  in  his  pain.  Far 
down  in  the  valley  he  saw  a  red  flame  rise. 

******* 

Mother  saw  Brooke  ride  ofl"  to  inspect  his  Star 
mules  in  their  pasture  far  away  down  the  Eraser 
Caiion.  She  blacked  the  stove  with  malice,  she 
shook  the  bedding  in  enmity,  set  the  furniture  to 
rights  as  though  it  were  being  punished,  then  sat  on 
the  damp  floor  brooding,  while  twilight  deepened 
over  a  world  of  treachery.     Brooke  was  a  thief,  the 


THE    CARGADOR  327 

lying-  boss  had  used  Pete  and  thrown  him  away 
wrung  dry.  And  Pete  was  an  old  fool  who  would 
forgive. 

She  had  dreaded  the  lonely  summer  when  she 
was  left  with  only  squirrels  for  company.  Now 
Pete  would  be  "settin'  "  around,  ruined,  and  out  of 
work,  the  man  who  had  been  used  and  thrown  aside, 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  teamsters  who  saw  his 
pride  brought  low. 

Cold  and  hot  by  turns,  mother  made  herself  tidy 
against  Pete's  return,  got  the  supper  ready,  and  sat 
watching  the  door-step.  She  smoked  his  spare  corn- 
cob pipe  devising  vengeance,  while  the  night  closed 
over  her  head. 

The  frontier  breeds  fierce  women,  with  narrow 
venomous  enmities  toward  the  foes  of  the  house. 
Even  if  Pete  suffered,  Brooke  should  not  prosper, 
or  the  boss  who  had  failed  her  man.  Mother 
dragged  two  five-gallon  cans  of  petroleum  from  the 
lean-to,  and  staggering  under  their  weight,  poured 
the  oil  over  all  Brooke's  harness.  Breathing  heav- 
ily with  her  labor,  she  carried  loads  of  swampy  hay, 
and  cord-wood,  until  the  aparcjos  were  but  part  of 
a  bonfire.    Then  with  a  brand  from  the  stove  she  set 


328  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

the  hay  alight.  There  should  be  no  public  shame 
to  break  Pete's  heart,  there  should  be  no  pack-train 
unless  he  were  cargador. 

Pete  stood  beside  the  ashes,  searching  mother's 
face  with  his  slow  brooding  eyes.  Her  burning  rage 
was  gone,  and  she  was  afraid,  for  now  she  thought 
too  late  of  all  his  loving  pride  in  the  work,  the 
greatness  of  the  thing  which  his  knowledge  and 
skill  had  made.  That  she  had  burned.  Under- 
standing how  love  had  made  this  blunder,  Pete  said 
no  word.  He  only  knew  that  Bolt  had  paid  him 
seven  hundred  dollars  in  cash  and  kind,  which  must 
be  returned.  In  silence  he  turned  away,  and  once 
more  faced  the  terrible  hill  which  led  to  the  Hun- 
dred Mile  House. 

:{:  4^  ■if.  "if  "if.  ■if  -ie. 

The  spring  was  in  my  blood,  and  I  could  not 
sleep.  Can  any  creature  sleep  when  the  spring's 
sweet  restless  air  calls  to  all  nature?  The  bears 
were  about  again  after  their  winter  sleep,  busy  with 
last  year's  berries.  The  deer  were  feasting  on  new 
grass  down  in  the  lowlands,  the  wolverines  and 
cougar  were  sneaking  homeward  after  the  night's 
hunting.  Even  the  little  birds  were  coming  back  to 
the  north,  for  now  and  again  as  I  strolled  along  the 


THE    CARGADOR  329 

road  I  would  hear  a  sleepy  twitter.  "Isn't  it  dawn 
3'et?"  "Not  yet,  have  another  nap."  So  I  came  to 
the  brow  of  the  great  hill  whence  I  should  see  the 
dawn. 

Down  in  the  lower  country,  on  every  pool  the 
water-fowl  lay  abed,  each,  from  the  biggest  goose 
to  the  littlest  teal,  with  its  head  tucked  under  cover 
of  a  wing,  and  one  quaint  eye  cocked  up  to  catch 
the  glint  of  dawn.  A  wan  light  was  spreading  in 
the  northeastern  sky,  and  presently  the  snowy  brow 
of  the  hill  revealed  its  wrinkled  front,  its  frozen 
runnels.  The  sentinels  of  the  wild  fowl  saw  that 
first  gleam  of  coming  day,  called  the  reveille  along 
from  pool  to  pool,  roused  thunder  of  innumerable 
wings,  marshaled  their  echelons  in  soaring  hosts, 
and  broke  away  in  the  northward  flight  of  spring. 
Far  in  the  east  a  lone  moose  trumpeted. 

I  was  turning  back  refreshed  toward  my  duty, 
when  I  heard  something  moan.  The  sound  came 
from  underneath  a  pine  tree,  the  one  at  the  very 
top  of  the  long  climb  which  Pete  had  blazed  with 
his  inscription,  "Got  than"  With  my  heart  in  my 
mouth  I  went  to  find  out  what  was  the  matter,  and 
so  discovered  the  old  cargador  crouched  down 
against  the  trunk. 


330  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Pete,"  I  asked  in  a  very  shaky  voice,  "what  on 
earth's  the  matter?" 

"Dying,  mum." 

"But  it's  too  damp  here.  Why,  you'll  catch  your 
death  of  cold." 

"That  would  never  do.     Say,  mum,  how's  Bolt?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  much  better." 

"Can't  do  It,"  said  Pete,  "if  I  died  finst  he'd  have 
the  joke  on  me." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  a  hot  rum?" 

Pete  staggered  to  his  feet.  "I'd  go  for  that,"  he 
sighed,  "just  like  one  man." 

So  he  took  my  arm,  and  I  helped  him  along  the 
road. 

"She  burned  them  riggings,"  he  said. 

"Mother?" 

"Yes.  Brooke  came  inspecting  them  riggings,  so 
mother  burned  'em." 

"Won't  that  be  rather  awkward?" 

"Some.  You  see,  mum,  Bolt  paid  me  four  hun- 
dred and  five  dollars  cash,  so  I  come  to  return  him 
the  money." 

I  didn't  quite  understand.  "You  see,  Pete,"  I 
suggested,  "you  and  Brooke  are  the  owners.  Don't 
you  owe  half  to  yourself  and  half  to  Brooke?" 


THE    CARGADOR  33 1 

"Well,  if  that's  so,  I'll  pay  myself  and  owe  the 
rest  to  Brooke,  But  then  he  claims  the  whole  Star 
atajo." 

"In  that  case  you  owe  the  whole  of  the  money  to 
Brooke." 

"I  don't  mind  owing  Brooke."  Pete  felt  so  much 
better  that  he  was  able  to  walk  without  help. 
"Brooke's  gone  on  to  inspect  mules.  I  wonder  how 
he'll  get  on  with  them  mules?" 

As  it  happened,  Jesse  was  an  actual  witness  to 
Mr.  Brooke's  inspection  of  the  Star  mules  at  their 
pasture  below  his  ranch.    Here  is  his  narrative: 

"Mules  are  the  most  religious  of  all  animals.  They 
believe  in  the  bell  mare,  Avho  creates  grass,  water, 
mud  holes,  and  mosquitoes,  and  leads  them  in  the 
paths  of  virtue  where  they  don't  get  any  fun.  And 
when  they  worship  her  too  much  she  kicks  them  in 
the  stomach. 

"The  trouble  for  these  poor  mules  was  that  they 
followed  a  false  goddess.  Their  bell  mare  Prue 
ought  to  have  been  old  enough  to  know  better,  but 
at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  with  gray  hair  and  bald 
withers,  she  v/as  still  female. 

"She  and  her  mules  had  been  grazing  maybe  half 
a  mile  when  my  new  stallion,  young  Jehoshaphat, 


332  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

happened  along  with  his  harem  of  twenty-five 
mares,  smelling  down  wind  for  a  drink.  The  mares 
looked  so  snug  and  grass-fat  they  could  scarcely 
waddle,  but  Jehoshaphat  was  full  of  sinful  pride, 
waltzing  high  steps  at  the  sight  of  Prue. 

"You  should  have  seen  Prue  playing  up  innocent 
modesty  in  front  of  Jehoshaphat,  pretending  she 
wasn't  there,  making  believe  he  was  too  sudden, 
didn't  approve  of  the  gentleman,  flattering  his  van- 
ity with  all  sorts  of  airs  and  graces.  He  up  with 
his  tail  and  showed  off,  prancing  around  pleased  as 
Punch.  Prue  paraded  herself  along  in  front  of 
the  harem  to  spite  the  married  mares,  and  all  her 
mules  came  worshiping  along  in  pursuit.  Those 
mares  gave  the  mules  the  biggest  kicking  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life. 

"There  was  me  lying  on  Face  Rock  like  a  little  boy 
at  a  circus,  and  there  was  the  performance  proceed- 
ing so  joyful  that  I  never  saw  Brooke  until  he  rode 
down  right  into  the  middle  of  the  fun.  Jehoshaphat 
got  mad  and  went  for  Brooke,  chasing  him  around 
the  pasture.  Prue  chased  Jehoshaphat,  the  mules 
chased  Prue,  the  harem  mares  bit  and  kicked  at 
everybody,  Brooke  galloped  delirious  in  all  direc- 


THE    CARGx^DOR  333' 

tions,  and  I  laughed  until  I  could  hardly  hold  down 
the  rocks. 

"Of  course,  if  Brooke  hadn't  been  a  mere  mistake 
on  earth,  he  would  have  herded  gently  to  the  near- 
est corral,  and  cut  the  two  outfits  apart.  But  Brooke 
proceeded  to  lose  his  temper,  pulled  his  gun,  jumped 
his  wretched  sorrel  behind  a  tree,  and  let  drive. 
He  missed  the  stallion.  He  shot  Prue  through  the 
heart. 

"There  was  nothing  after  that  to  keep  the  sixty 
Star  mules  together.  Some  went  up  the  canon,  som.e 
down,  a  few  even  swam  the  Fraser,  but  the  heft 
of  them  climbed  the  big  cliffs  and  vanished  into  the 
forest. 

"I  reckon  Pete  and  his  arrieros  could  collect  those 
mules  and  break  them  to  loving  a  new  madrina. 
But  with  Brooke  as  cargador,  the  great  Star  Pack- 
train's  numbered  with  the  past,  and  Mathson's  part- 
nership is  scarce  worth  arguing. 

"I  was  sorry  to  see  the  fine  mules  lost,  and  in  my 
grief  I  kicked  Brooke  about  one-third  of  a  mile  on 
his  way  home  afoot." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  BLACK  NIGHT 
Kate's  Narrative 

IBOULTON  Wemyss  Taylor,  Commander  R. 
9  N.,  retired,  being  of  sound  mind  in  a  dying 
body,  do  hereby  make  my  last  will  and  testament : 

"And  do  appoint  the  lady  known  as  Madame 
Scotson  my  sole  executress  and  trustee  of  all  prop- 
erty which  I  may  die  possessed  of; 

"To  pay  my  just  debts,  and  to  administer  the  re- 
mainder on  behalf  of  my  grandson,  James  Taylor, 

"Until  at  his  coming  of  age  he  shall  receive  the 
whole  estate,  if  there  is  any; 

"Save  only  that  I  bequeath  to  ^Madame  Scotson 
my  sword  and  the  Victoria  Cross  ; 

"And  with  regard  to  burial,  it  is  my  will  that  no 
money  whatever  shall  be  spent,  but  that  my  body, 
wrapped  in  the  flag  by  right  of  her  majesty's  com- 
mission, shall  be  consigned  to  the  earth  by  my 
neighbors;  that  no  friend  of  mine  shall  be  allowed 

334 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  335 

to  stand  uncovered  catching-  cold,  or  to  wear  un- 
seemly black  clothing  at  the  service  of  the  resurrec- 
tion, or  to  toll  bells  which  should  be  pealed  when 
the  soul  passes  to  God,  or  to  make  pretense  or 
parade  of  grief  for  one  who  is  glad  to  go." 

The  months  of  nursing  were  ended.  No  longer 
should  Nurse  Panton  and  I  be  afraid  when  our  pa- 
tient was  good,  or  rejoice  when  fractious  whims  and 
difficult  absurdities  marked  those  rallies  in  which 
he  fought  off  death.  At  the  last,  after  many  hours 
of  silence,  he  asked  me  in  a  boyish  voice  if  he  might 
go  up-stairs  to  see  his  uniform.  In  his  dreams  he 
was  leaving  school  to  enter  the  royal  navy. 

Billy  was  away  on  an  errand  to  the  Falls,  and  it 
was  Nurse  Panton's  watch  below,  when  at  ten  in 
the  evening  I  saw  the  change  come  ver}^  suddenly. 
The  face  of  my  dear  friend,  no  longer  old,  but 
timeless,  reflected  an  unearthly  majesty. 

For  the  next  hour  I  was  busy  rendering  the  last 
services,  in  haste,  for  the  lamp  had  a  most  peculiar 
smell.  I  took  it  away  and  lighted  candles,  but  It  was 
not  the  lamp.  Spreading  the  Union  Jack  upon  the 
bed,  I  bolted  from  that  room.  For  a  time  I  sat  In 
the  dining-hall  but  could  not  stay  there.  Even  In 
the  barroom    I  still  had  to  fight  off  something  In- 


336  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

tangible,  a  sense  of  being  watched,  a  presentiment 
of  evil  coming  swiftly  nearer. 

Closing  the  door  which  led  into  the  house,  I 
opened  that  which  gave  upon  the  yard,  then  placed 
a  flickering  candle  on  the  counter,  and  my  chair 
in  front  of  it  facing  the  darkness.  All  through  the 
evening  the  drenching  rain  had  fallen,  with  sob  of 
dripping  eaves.  Now  at  the  open  doorway,  loud, 
insistent,  the  great  diapason  of  the  rain  was  choral 
to  those  little  sad  voices  which  fluted,  throbbed,  and 
muttered  near  at  hand,  the  lament  of  the  water 
drops,  the  liquid  note  from  every  pool,  the  plaint 
of  trickling  streamlets. 

It  is  the  presence  of  the  dead  which  makes  their 
resting-places  serene  with  quiet  beauty,  Instinct  with 
tenderness  toward  all  living  hearts.  That  presence 
had  entered  the  good  log  house,  a  home  of  human 
warmth,  of  kindly  comfort,  made  holy,  consecrate, 
where  people  would  hush  their  voices,  constrained 
to  reverence. 

And  in  the  gracious  monotone  of  the  rain,  com- 
pound of  voices  joined  in  requiem,  I  felt  a  soothing 
melancholy  beauty,  knowing  well  how  peace  not  of 
this  world  had  come  into  the  homestead. 

But  outside  that,  beyond.  In  the  dread  forest,  a 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  337 

threat,  a  menace  filled  the  outer  darkness.  Fear 
clutched  at  my  heart,  a  presentiment  told  me  of 
evil,  of  instant  danger.  Then,  as  though  the  horror 
in  the  night  moved  other  hearts  as  well  as  mine, 
the  Chinese  cook  came  groping  his  way  through 
the  dining-hall  and  humbly  scratched  at  the  door. 
I  let  him  in  and  he  crept  to  a  stool  in  the  near  cor- 
ner.    I  whispered  to  him : 

"Are  you  frightened,  Sam?" 

"Too  plenty  much,"  he  quavered,  "me  flitened 
bad." 

He  lighted  his  pipe  and  seemed,  like  me,  to  be 
eased  by  human  company.  Once  only  he  moved,  and 
in  the  queerest  way  came  with  his  long  yellow  fingers 
to  touch  me,  then  timid,  but  reassured,  crept  back 
to  his  stool  in  the  corner. 

Soon  Nurse  Panton  joined  us,  her  hair  in  cork- 
screws, looking  very  plain,  peevish  because  she  had 
not  been  called  at  midnight.  "What's  the  matter?" 
she  asked  crossly,  and  for  answer  I  pulled  down  the 
blinds.  She  shivered  as  she  passed  the  open  door 
to  take  a  chair  behind  it.  She  begged  me  to  close 
the  door,  but  the  night  was  warm,  and  besides  I 
dared  not.     Nurse  and  Chinaman  each  had  a  glass 


338  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

of  port,  and  so  did  I,  feeling  much  better  after- 
ward. 

An  hour  passed,  the  Chinaman  nodding  like  those 
ridiculous  mandarin  figures  with  loose  heads,  the 
nurse  pallid  against  the  gloom,  staring  until  she  got 
on  my  nerves.  I  always  disliked  that  woman  with 
her  precise  routine  and  large  flat  feet. 

Far  off  I  heard  the  thud  of  a  gunshot,  then  three 
shots  all  together,  and  afterward  a  fifth.  The  evil 
in  the  night  was  coming  nearer,  and  I  said  to  my- 
self, "If  I  were  really  frightened  I  should  close 
that  door.     I'm  half  a  coward." 

The  hero  himself  had  strung  his  Victoria  Cross 
upon  a  riband  which  I  wore  about  my  neck.  Could 
I  wear  the  cross  and  set  an  example  of  cowardice 
to  these  poor  creatures  who  crouched  in  the  corners 
of  the  room?  To  show  fear  is  a  privilege  of  the 
underbred.    But  I  did  long  for  Jesse. 

Through  the  murmurs  of  the  nearer  rain,  I  felt 
a  throb  in  the  ground,  then  heard  a  sound  grow,  of 
a  horse  galloping.  The  swift  soft  rhythm,  now 
loud,  now  very  faint  again,  then  very  near,  echoed 
against  the  barns,  thundered  across  the  bridge, 
splashed  through  the  flooded  yard,  and  ceased 
abruptly. 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  339 

Billy  had  come  home  from  the  Falls,  he  was 
stabling  his  roan,  he  was  crossing  the  yard  in  haste, 
his  spurs  clanked  at  the  door-step  and,  dreading  his 
news,  a  sudden  panic  seized  me.  I  fled  behind  the 
bar. 

He  entered,  astream  with  rain,  shading  his  eyes 
against  the  candle-light ;  then  as  I  moved  he  called 
out,  as  though  I  were  at  a  distance,  begging  me  for 
brandy.  His  face  was  haggard,  his  hand  as  he 
drank  was  covered  with  dried  blood,  he  slammed 
the  glass  on  the  counter  so  that  it  broke. 

"You  heard  the  shots?"  he  said. 

"At  Spite  House?"  I  whispered. 

He  nodded. 

"You  were  there?"  I  asked. 

"Half  a  mile  beyond.  When  I  got  there  it  was 
all  dark.  Looked  in  through  the  end  window,  but 
the  rain  got  down  my  neck,  so  I  went  round.  The 
front  door  was  standing  open.  I  listened  a  while. 
No  need  to  get  shot  myself.  Thought  the  place  was 
derelict.     Then  I  heard  groans. 

"Struck  a  bunch  of  matches  then,  found  the  hall 
lamp,  and  got  it  alight.  Wished  I'd  got  a  gun,  but 
there  wasn't  nothing  handy  except  the  poker,  so  I 
took  that  and  the  light — just  followed  the  groans. 


340  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

He  was  lying  on  the  barroom  floor." 

"Brooke?" 

"Yes.  Shot  through  the  throat,  blood  spurting 
down  the  side  of  his  neck,  making  a  big  pool  on 
the  oil-cloth.  You  know  the  thing  you  make  with 
a  stick  and  a  scarf  to  twist  up?  A  tourniquet,  yes. 
Well,  it  choked  the  swine,  so  I  quit.  He  whispered 
something  about  my  thumb  hurting  the  wound,  so 
I  told  him  my  father's  neck  hurt  worse. 

"Up  to  that  I  thought  he  was  just  acting,  play- 
ing pathetic  to  touch  my  feelings.  Once  he  mut- 
tered your  name,  and  then  he  was  dead." 

"Brooke  dead!" 

"Yes,  he'd  been  shooting  Polly,  too.  I  traced  her 
blood  tracks  all  the  way  to  the  front  door.  Hello, 
what's  that?     I  thought  I  heard — " 

I  listened  and  there  was  only  the  sound  of  the 

rain. 

"I  suppose  It's  all  right,"  said  Billy,  "we'd  bet- 
ter close  that  door,  though." 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  door,  Nurse  Panton- 
called  him  away  to  her  corner,  where  she  spoke  In 
a  whisper  so  that  I  should  not  hear,  sending  him, 
perhaps,  for  her  cloak.  Meanwhile  I  came  from  be- 
hind the  counter  to  my  former  seat  before  the  open 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  341 

doorway,  where  I  sat  staring  into  the  darkness,  un- 
able to  feel  any  more,  but  just  benumbed.  Across 
my  weariness  flickered  the  mournful  soliloquy  of  a 
poor  barn-door  fowl — "Yesterday  an  egg,  to-mor- 
row a  feather  duster!  What's  the  good  of  anythin', 
why,  nothin'." 

Then  I,  too,  heard  a  sound  in  the  night,  and  be- 
cause Billy  and  the  nurse  were  muttering,  I  stood 
up  with  the  candle-light  behind  me,  trying  to  see 
into  the  darkness.  Billy  said  afterward  he  had 
moved  quickly,  to  shut  the  door,  but  I  waved  him 
back  just  as  the  shot  rang  out. 

The  explosion  blinded,  deafened,  seemed  even  to 
scorch  me,  while  the  mirror  on  the  wall  came  crash- 
ing down.  Stunned,  dazzled,  horrified,  I  felt  a  dull 
rage  at  this  attempted  murder. 

A  second  revolver-shot  stirred  my  hair,  and  I'm 
afraid  then  that  I  lost  my  temper.  I  am  not  a  fish- 
fag  that  I  should  stoop  to  fighting  a  creature  such 
as  Polly,  but  I  would  have  died  rather  than  let  her 
see  one  trace  of  fear. 

Billy  rushed  past  the  firing  to  reach  the  door 
and  close  it,  but  I  ordered  him  to  desist,  then 
grasped  the  candle  and  held  it  out  to  show  a  bet- 
ter light. 


342  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Lower  your  lights!"  I  shouted  Into  the  dark, 
"you  fired  too  high!" 

A  revolver  crashed  on  the  door-step,  and  low 
down  within  three  feet  of  the  ground,  I  saw  a  dread- 
ful face  convulsed  with  rage,  changing  to  fear.  The 
woman  was  sinking  to  her  knees,  she  buried  her  face 
in  grimy,  blood-smeared  hands,  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  in  awful  abandonment  of  grief. 

The  danger  was  over  now,  the  menace  of  evil 
in  the  night  had  vanished.  I  felt  an  immense  re- 
lief, with  hands  wet,  mouth  parched,  knees  shaking, 
and  great  need  of  tears.  I  knew  the  strain  had 
been  beyond  endurance,  but  now  it  was  gone,  al- 
though a  velvet  darkness  closing  round  me,  black 
night  swinging  round  me,  sickness — I  must  not 
faint,  when  I  had  to  fight,  to  k^^ep  command,  to  set 
an  example  worthy  of  Jesse's  wife.  And  there  I 
was  sitting  in  my  chair,  with  drops  of  sweat  form- 
ing and  pouring  on  my  forehead.  Billy,  groping 
on  the  floor  at  my  feet,  had  found  and  lighted  the 
candle,  and  was  holding  the  flame  in  the  palms  of 
his  hands  till  It  steadied  and  blazed  up  clear. 
"Buck  up,  missus,"  he  was  saying.  "Cheer-oh, 
Don't  let  'em  know  you  swooned,  mum.  Grab  on 
to  that  cross,  and  make  It  proud  of  you.     That's 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  343 

right.     Laugh,  mum!     Laugh!    Wish'd  I'd  half  yer 

grit." 

I  had  come  to  myself  and  only  Billy  knew,  who 
was  loyal.  As  the  candle  blazed  up  I  saw  the 
Chinaman  gibbering  like  some  toothless  mask  of 
yellow  india-rubber,  but  that  nurse  still  kept  up  her 
silly  screaming,  until  I  ordered  her  to  shut  her 
mouth,  which  she  did  in  sheer  surprise. 

There  lay  Polly  prone  across  the  doorway  on  her 
face,  racked  with  convulsive  sobs,  until  feeling,  I 
suppose,  the  lashing  rain  on  her  back,  she  rose  on 
hands  and  knees  like  some  forlorn  wild  animal 
crawling  to  shelter,  while  behind  her  stretched  a 
trail  of  wet  and  blood.  I  stared  until  in  shame  she 
sat  up,  still  for  all  the  world  like  an  animal  lost  to 
human  feeling,  and  to  a  woman's  dignity,  until  as 
she  looked  at  me  a  wan  shamed  smile  seemed  to 
apologize.  She  sat  back  then  against  the  log  wall, 
limp,  relaxed  with  weakness. 

"Nurse,"  I  called,  still  with  my  gaze  on  Polly, 
"this  woman  is  wounded.  You  are  a  nurse.  You 
claimed  to  be  a  nurse." 

But  Miss  Panton  indulged  in  hysterics,  so  I  turned 
to  Billy.  "Run  into  the  house,  get  the  hip  bath, 
warm  water,  blankets,  bandages." 


344  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

"Aye,  aye,  mum,"  he  touched  his  forelock,  and 
swinging  the  Chinaman  to  his  feet;  "Come  along, 
Sam,"  he  grunted,  and  bustled  him  off  on  duty. 

Polly  looked  up,  trusting  me  with  her  tawny 
bloodshot  eyes.  Her  voice  was  a  dreary  hoarse- 
ness, demanding  liquor.  But  with  an  open  wound, 
to  quicken  the  heart's  action  might  be  fatal,  and 
Polly  knew  well  it  was  no  use  pleading.  Instead 
of  that  she  pointed  at  the  nurse,  and  said,  "Send 
that  away." 

I  turned  upon  Nurse  Panton  who  sat  forsaken 
and  ostentatious  in  her  corner.  "Go,"  I  said,  "and 
make  beef  tea." 

Sniff. 

I  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  marched  her  out 
of  the  room,  while  Polly  grinned  approval.  I  came 
back  and  asked  where  she  was  wounded.  She 
pointed  to  the  left  hip,  but  I  dared  not  remove  any 
clothing  which  might  have  caught  and  sealed  the 
flow  of  blood.  A  sole  diet  of  alcohol  and  months 
of  neglect  had  made  her  condition  such  that  I 
shrank  from  touching  her, 

"So  you're  Kate,"  she  lay  against  the  bottom 
log  of  the  wall,  head  back,  eyes  nearly  shut,  looking 
along  her  nose  at  me,  "Carroty  Kate." 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  345 

Her  own  tawny  hair,  draggled,  and  hung  in 
snakes,  was  streaked  with  dirty  gray. 

"Ye  took  Jesse,"  she  said  in  weary  scorn,  "so  I 
ruined  him.  Then  this  Brooke,  he  fell  in  love  with 
yer,  so  I  murdered  him.  Take  everything,  give 
nothin' ;  that's  you.  Carrots,  give  nothin'.  That's 
you.  Carrots,  give  nothin'  away,  not  even  a  drink. 
And  I  gave  everything. 

"So  you're  good,  and  I'm  bad;  you're  high-toned 
society,  and  I'm  a  poor  sporting  lady.  Oh,  I  saw 
ye  lift  yer  skirt  aAvay  when  yer  passed  me — calling 
yerself  a  Christian,  when  just  one  word  of  Christian 
kindness  would  have  saved  the  likes  of  me. 

"Ye  needn't  look  over  my  head  as  if  I  wasn't 
there.  I'm  no  fairy,  I  ain't — no  dream.  I'm  facts, 
and  ye'd  better  face  'em.  'Sisters  of  Sorrow'  they 
calls  us,  who  gave  everything,  who  gave  ourselves. 

"And  you  good  women  pride  yerselves  in  virtue, 
which  ain't  been  tempted.  Your  virtue  never  been 
outdoors  in  the  rain,  gettin'  wet.  Your  virtue  never 
been  starved  and  froze,  or  fooled  and  betrayed. 
Your  colors  ain't  run,  'cause  they've  never  been  to 
the  wash.  You  don't  know  good  from  evil,  and 
you  set  thar  judgin'  me. 

"Tears  running  down  yer  face,  eh?    You  think 


346  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

you  struck  it  rough  when  you  came  up  agin  me. 
Poor  Carrots  playin'  Christian  martyr.  I  done 
you  good  if  you  know'd  it.  I'm  all  the  schoolin' 
you  got  in  real  life.  I  waked  ye  from  dreams  to 
livin'.  And  you  an'  me  is  women,  sisters  in  pain.  I 
wish'd  I'd  auburn  hair  like  your'n,  Kate,  and  a  baby 
David  to  favor  me  with  hair  an'  eyes.  And  if  I'd 
had  a  home!  But  I  didn't  get  a  fair  show  ever,  and 
every  time  I  done  good,  I  got  it  in  the  neck.  Well, 
what's  the  odds? 

"It  wasn't  you  brung  me  down,  Kate.  Don't  cry 
like  that,  dear.  It  don't  matter.  Nothing  matters. 
It  was  this  Brooke  which  done  for  me,  not  you  or 
Jesse.  Brooke's  only  a  thing  I  took  in  like  a  lost 
dog  'cause  he  was  hungry.  He  said  he'd  manage 
my  business,  and  he  shorely  did — invested  all  I'd 
got  in  a  governess,  and  a  bonfire  at  Mathson's,  and 
a  stampede  of  mules.  Then  he  fooled  a  widow  down 
to  Ashcroft  to  start  him  running  a  tourist  joint,  and 
I  was  to  be  turned  out.  And  he  fell  in  love  with 
you. 

"I  guess  that's  all,  excep'  I  got  to  tell  you  one 
thing.  It  was  nursing  the  sick  men  kep'  me  straight 
all  them  years,  kep'  me  from  drink.     You  see  I  was 


THE    BLACK    NIGHT  347 

meant  for  a  nurse,  trained  for  a  nurse  until — until — 
well,  never  you  mind.  Brooke  stopped  the  nursing, 
and  I  drank.     I'm  only  a  nurse  gone  wrong. 

"Yes,  your  eyes  is  wonderin'  why  they  don't  come 
back  with  them  bandages,  and  the  bath.  Don't 
worry  about  that,  'cause  I'll  be  dead  by  daybreak. 
Jesse  loved  yer.  Brooke  loved  yer,  and  somehow, 
well,  I'm  kinder  ranging  that  way  myself.  And  if 
I  go,  you'll  get  back  Jess,  eh?" 

Rallying  what  courage  I  had  left,  I  knelt  down 
and  kissed  my  sister,  my  poor  sister.  For  a  moment 
I  let  her  stroke  my  carroty  hair,  which  she  liked. 
Then  I  ran  to  hurry  my  people  to  bring  the  beef  tea, 
the  hot  water,  the  bandages.  I  found  that  wretched 
nurse  detaining  Billy  and  the  Chinaman,  with  some 
pretense  that  I  must  not  be  disturbed.  I  was  telling 
her  to  get  out  of  my  sight,  to  go  to  her  bed,  when  a 
revolver-shot  rang  through  the  echoing  house. 

Polly  had  crawled  to  the  door-step,  found  her  re- 
volver. She  who  gave  everything  in  life,  had  given 
me  back  to  Jesse,  and  lay  dead,  her  forehead  shat- 
tered in  with  the  revolver-shot.  For  some  seconds 
Billy  and  I  hung  back,  watching  from  the  doorway 
while  a  slow  coil  of  soaoke  unfolded  in  the  wan  litrht 


348  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

of  the  dawn.    The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  east  was 
all  aglow  with  golden  radiance. 

Billy  knelt  and  touched  the  poor  broken  fore- 
head, then  looking  up  at  me,  "This  time,"  he  said, 
"it's  real." 


EPILOGUE 

Once  more  with  Jesse  in  Cathedral  Grove!  The 
breath  of  evening  stirred  its  tangled  coral,  the  long 
needles  clustered  in  globes  were  swaying  as  censors 
sway,  with  heavy  incense.  Beyond  the  purple  night 
swept  up  over  glowing  cliffs  to  where  the  upper  for- 
est like  an  edge  of  flame  burned  against  deeps  of 
sky. 

"Come  to  the  hilltop  :  blackbird  choristers 
Peal  their  clear  anthem  to  the  kneeling  gorse." 

Jesse  lay  dreaming  while  I  sang  to  him.  Crisp 
silvered  hair,  and  the  deeply  graven  lines  of  his 
dear  face,  gave  him  at  rest  a  sweet  sad  dignity ;  but 
presently  he  would  look  up,  his  big  mouth  humor- 
ous, his  eyes  alight  with  fun,  a  man  of  commanding 
power  matured  in  wisdom,  in  sympathy,  and  valor 
to  lead  his  fellows. 

Through  the  east  window  of  the  grove,  I  could 
see  a  little  procession  of  my  closest  friends  pass  on 
their  Sunday  stroll.     First  came  Pete,  ill  at  ease  in 

349 


350  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

his  Sabbath  suit  of  blacks,  and  with  him,  arm  in 
arm,  was  Mrs.  Pete  in  silk,  full-skirted,  prickly,  and 
so  very  grim.  Then  Billy  passed  slowly  by,  his 
mother  stumping  beside  him,  bound  to  keep  the 
pace.  They  had  the  new  rabbit  with  them,  collared 
and  chained  like  a  bulldog,  and  were  followed  by 
David's  nurse,  dear  Patsy,  Billy's  wife — plucking 
my  young  anemones — the  wretch  ! 

Out  on  the  perilous  edge  of  Apex  Rock  I  could 
see  young  Mr.  Nisted,  Father  Jared's  nephew,  a 
pupil  in  Jesse's  school  of  colonial  training.  With 
rod  and  line  he  was  seriously  fishing — for  birds ! 

"Don't  you  reckon,"  said  Jesse,  relighting  a  stale 
cigar,  "that  it's  time  we  stopped  our  book?" 

"Oh,  but—" 

"It's  tempting  Providence,  young  woman;  it's 
encouraging  the  police.  From  the  moment  you 
started  the  thing,  we've  had  more'n  our  share  of 
adventures.  Put  up  a  notice,  'Book  Closed.  No 
more  adventurers  need  apply.  Try  Surly  Brown 
for  a  change.'  " 

"But  what  shall  we  do?" 

"Publish  the  blamed  thing,  and  serves  it  right. 
Throw  it  to  the  critics." 

"But  it's  all  secrets!" 


EPILOGUE  351 

"Change  the  names  and  places.  We'll  be  'Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Smith,'  well-meaning  private  persons 
located  somewhere  west.  I'm  going  to  have  blue 
eyes." 

"But  mine  are  blue." 

"I  made  first  grab.  You  can  have  green,  and  a 
large  mouth,  and  your  Christian  name  is  Carrots. 
Hello,  here's  Baby  David." 

My  son  was  coming  through  the  scented  dusk,  and 
in  his  arms  he  carried  a  large  dog,  a  china  dog  with 
gilt  muzzle,  split  from  nose  to  tail,  but  carefully 
mended. 

"Sonny,"  said  Jesse,  "don't  you  drop  Maria,  or 
she'll  have  puppies." 

"I  did,  and  she  didn't;  so  there!  Something 
dropped  out,  though.   See,  mummie." 

David  had  thrown  Maria  into  my  lap,  and  danced 
about  in  the  gloaming  with  some  strange  trophy, 
the  tail  of  a  large  animal. 

"Sort  of  reminds  me,"  said  Jesse,  "of  being  a  lit- 
tle boy.  That's  the  Inspector's  tale.  This  is  a  long 
way,  too,  from  the  Labrador." 

The  wind  made  quite  a  disturbance,  telling  the 
pines  to  hush,  while  both  my  son  and  Jesse  wanted 
to  play  with  the  wolf  tail,  and  would  not  be  quiet, 


352  A    MAN    IN    THE    OPEN 

though  already  the  stars  and  the  fireflies  had  lighted 
Cathedral  Grove,  and  the  great  river  like  an  organ 
crooned  the  first  deep  notes  of  nature's  evensong. 
An  awed  expectant  silence  came  to  us. 

"Lighten  our  darkness,"  said  the  grave  old  trees, 
"we  beseech  Thee." 

"By  Thy  great  mercy,"  pleaded  the  little  flowers. 

"Defend  us  from  all  perils,"  the  small  birds  twit- 
tered. 

"And  dangers  of  the  night,"  the  aspens  quavered. 

"For  the  love  of  Thy  only  Son,"  cried  the  South 
Wind. 

"Our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,"  a  woman's  voice  re- 
sponded. 

"Amen,"  the  cliff's  were  breathing. 

"Amen,"  the  high  clouds  echoed. 

"Amen,"  said  the  organ  river. 

And  from  the  reverent  woodlands  came : 

"Amen.   Amea." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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